


you've got the moon (i've got the shine)

by flymetomars (warpedlou)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, American Football, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Texas, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-06 03:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 89,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12203154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warpedlou/pseuds/flymetomars
Summary: “We’re fine,” Louis finds himself saying, the sound of his voice sounding as if it’s coming from someone else in another room.Harry gulps. “Can I kiss you?” He gingerly slides a hand from Louis’ shoulder to the side of his neck, the giant width of his palm covering the surface entirely. “It’s been a long time since I’ve kissed you.”Louis rolls his eyes, not able to hide the giggle that slips out from between his lips. “It’s been a day, five-seven.”“Yeah, a day too long.”The quarterback that Louis’ grown to know is starting to shine through the skin of this weird, nervous Harry that looks as if he’s swallowed a worm. His dimple reappears, digging a hole into the skin of his cheek and his eyes glow green like a traffic light, mischievous and so bright.“You’ve gone seventeen years without kissing me,” Louis points out with a smirk. “I think you can wait another day or two.”-Harry plays football. Louis wants more than just Texas. They try to make it work.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So. This fic has been in the making for about three years. Maybe four. This thing, this huge thing, is literally my baby. I don't even know where to begin, to be completely honest. When I first started writing this, it was very different from what it is now. I was also very different. In a way, this fic has grown with me. I began writing this when I was only fifteen or sixteen, and now I am a college student living on my own. This fic means so much to me, more than just a piece of writing. I have put a lot of myself into this fic. Some of it good, some of it bad. But, all of it extremely meaningful. 
> 
> I have a lot of people to thank for aiding in this fic becoming what it is today. M, for kicking my ass into gear and for encouraging me and being there for me when I was at my worst. R, for being a shoulder to cry on and a walking search engine for when I was too lazy to open up Google. D, for your incredible knowledge of Texas high school football and for putting up with my constant Friday Night Lights binges. Mia, for gushing over Tim Riggins and agreeing that Harry Styles is the nicer, less damaged version. And, last but not least, Jo, the amazing artist who has put up with my hundreds of posting extensions, ghosting, and my lack of organization. You're incredible and I thank you a million times over!
> 
> Here are some warnings to consider before reading: all characters attend American high school. There are scenes where these characters are involved in sexual content, as well as alcohol. There is mention of vomiting due to alcohol. There is a scene where there is mention of a hazing ritual. There is mention of abuse and a brief scene where a parent attacks their child. If any of these things make you uncomfortable or feel unsafe, please take caution and take care of yourself.
> 
> For the record, Wyatt, Texas is completely fictional, as are the towns in which Wyatt plays football against. All original characters are completely fictional as well. This is a work of fictional and none of it is real.
> 
> This was supposed to be posted at the beginning of the summer. Unfortunately, I had a series of personal issues get in the way. But, it's here now for you all to (hopefully) enjoy. This fic is already completed and is around 100k long (like I said, a fucking beast) and I’ll be posting a new chapter every Wednesday! This is the longest thing that I have ever written and the first thing that I have ever published on ao3. Please be nice. This is not perfect. I am well aware. But, I tried my best and put my heart and soul into this beast. So, please be gentle with me. I'm too sensitive and anxious for mean comments.
> 
> So, enough rambling. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. (I'm friendstoloversfic on tumblr, come say hi maybe!)

Within the first few minutes of walking into Wyatt High School, all Louis sees are the colors green and yellow plastered on lockers, walls, and every flat surface. It’s only the first day, yet everyone acts as if it’s the day before States. Louis didn’t expect anything different.

And, as consistently as the town’s enthusiasm over the Lions is, Louis’ consistency to somehow always be late for the first day of school prevails for yet another year. However, despite the thrill of maintaining and albeit unorthodox tradition for four years in a row, the idea of being late for his first day of AP French does not sound so appealing.

As he turns the corner down the hallway towards the Foreign Language wing of the school, he runs smack dab into what feels like a brick wall. “Fucking shitballs,” Louis curses as he tries and fails to catch his balance.

Looking up from the bottom of the potentially misplaced brick wall, Louis sees a head of long, brown hair with green eyes.

“Oh, hey, H,” Louis says with an embarrassed smile, scratching the back of his neck.

“Hey,” Harry chuckles, rubbing the place where Louis’ nose impaled his chest. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Same here,” Louis replies. His nose throbs a little bit, but he ignores it. “I’m like, really late.”

“I can tell,” Harry says. “You looked pretty distressed in those point five seconds that I saw your face.”

Suddenly, all the reasons Louis can think of to _not_ be late for French are out the window. Now, all Louis is thinking about is how attractive Harry looks in his grey Lions tee and dark-wash jeans. God, he’s gotten a nice tan over the summer, too.

“Where’re you heading?” Louis asks before he can verbalize how perky Harry’s nipples are under the thin layer of cotton.

“Supposed to be goin’ to Latin,” Harry states with a nod. “But, I have to go grab my new schedule from the main office first.”

“Latin?” Louis smirks. “A true romantic, you are.”

“Isn’t French the most romantic language? Or, like, Italian?”

Louis snorts. “They all come from Latin, Harry. Shouldn't you know that?”

Harry grins. “I may or may not have the worst understanding of the language, if I’m being honest.”

“As long as you don’t get an F,” Louis points out with a similar grin. “Pass or no play, right?”

“It’s only the first day,” Harry argues, eyes glinting green like the color of the uniform he’s been wearing for the past four years.

“Tell that to Nelson when you’re failing Latin!” Louis shouts as he walks backwards down the hall, completely aware of the fact that he’s going in the opposite direction. But, he figures that he looks more endearing this way.

Harry smirks. “Maybe you can tutor me?”

If Louis weren’t mistaken, he’d say Harry’s flirting. He hopes he’s not mistaken.

“I take French, Styles!”

The smirk on Harry’s face widens. “You can teach me some of that too, Tomlinson!”

-

On every first official practice of the season, Louis’ at least ninety percent sure that Nelson likes to murder at least a quarter of the team through drill after drill after drill.

From the second he parked, he could hear the shrill sound of the whistle, followed by echoing grunts. Cheerleading practice must be going on too, unless Nelson has escalated to making the second-stringers cheer on the sidelines. Louis wouldn’t put it past him; Nelson’s always been a sadistic bastard.

“Lots, I feel like you could be doing something way more productive then just observing,” Louis sighs for the umpteenth time as he walks beside his sister up the bleachers towards Eleanor and Stan.

“Like you don’t feel like watching cute, sweaty boys run around,” Lottie snaps, arms crossed over her chest.

Eleanor whistles as Lottie sits in front of them. “Ms. Tomlinson, aren’t you too young and innocent to even be mortally _interested_ in cute, sweaty football players?”

The fourteen-year-old turns her head around. “If the words cute, sweaty and football are in the same sentence, I’m most definitely interested.” Her voice is sweet, just like her mom’s, drenched in Southern honey.

Stan laughs. “Christ, don’t tell Jay. She’ll have the whole team skinned.”

“If she were to do that, she might as well just commit mass genocide on the entire town,” Louis says flatly, taking a sip of Eleanor’s water.

“But, seriously, Lots, what’re you doin’ here?” El asks, her elbow on her knee and chin on her palm. “Or, are you just here to mask the fact that Louis still has a crush on—”

“Calder I swear to God,” Louis exclaims, slapping his friend’s arm with the palm of his hand.

Lottie turns back around, thankfully ignoring Eleanor’s previous statement. “I’m writing an article for the school’s newspaper on Greg. Over the summer, he got recruited by Alabama with a full scholarship.”

“And teenage girls care about that _why_?” Stan asks sourly.

“For the same reason you do, idiot,” Lottie snaps, smacking Stan on the shins before turning back around. “And it’s not for _just_ teenage girls, Stanley, it’s for the _school paper_.”

“Then where’s your pen and paper?” Stan challenges, to which Lottie only glares. The glare must be affective, because Stan shuts right up.

Practice is comedic, to say the least. You’ve got the benchwarmers that watch all the first stringers like they’re God on the sidelines, then there’s the second-stringers trying to keep up, and then you’ve got Nelson and Dixon, both of them screaming, faces bright red.

Down below, the cheerleaders have dispersed, leaving only a few still gathering up the spare pom poms and water bottles. The rally girls are all along the bottom bleacher by the fifty-yard line, dressed in spandex and t-shirts, the names of their selected players written in green along the shoulder blades. They’re all either doing homework on the bench or talking to the flustered water boys who are surprised to have even been noticed.

“Do you think Soph gets jealous of Jade?” Stan asks from where he’s draped across the cool metal of the bleacher, bare chest facing the sun.

Eleanor frowns, looking over at the shirtless boy to her right. “What?”

Stan leans up on his elbows. “Soph. Jealous. Jade.”

“You’re an idiot,” Louis chuckles, head resting against the bleacher behind them.

“What? I’m an idiot for asking an honest to god realistic question?” Stan asks, sounding truly affronted. “You know how some of those guys are when it comes to rally girls.”

“Liam and Sophia are practically married,” Lottie states, not even bothering to turn back to look at the three teenagers. Louis’ pretty sure that, when Stan peeled his shirt off, Lottie was permanently scarred.

Looking down at the field, Liam’s arms wrapped tightly around Sophia’s slim waist while they talk, faces pressed close together, Louis nods. “I don’t think Sophia gets jealous. She has no reason to be.”

Eleanor nods, too. “I’m with Lou on this one. They’re, like, Jay and Beyoncé, you know?”

Stan snorts. “’Fuck outta here.”

Along the field, Louis can see all the players lining up down the middle, Nelson giving his eloquent pep talks, and Dixon sharing some words with the head rally girl, Kennedy.

“Well this is boring,” Lottie mumbles, leaning back to rest her head against Eleanor’s knees. “What’re they even doin’?”

“The rally girls match up with their players,” Eleanor replies, combing her fingers through Lottie’s hair. “It’s mostly for the new players or any new rally girls.”

While Eleanor teaches Lottie the names of all the rally girls, Louis watches as Harry, clad in his white shirt, tank top, and neon yellow sneakers, crosses the field to hug Kennedy, his rally girl. Harry’s at least a head taller than her and his whole body seems to swallow up her much smaller one.

The picking of the underclassmen players is interrupted ten players in by Nelson screaming, “Attention!” down on the field. His lips are pursed, from what Louis can see, and hands shaped into fists at his hips. “We are down a rally girl! Do we have any volunteers from anyone in the stands?”

Before Louis can even react, Lottie is reaching over and lifting his arm while Eleanor lifts the other.

“What—”

“Tomlinson—!”

Zayn leans forward and whispers something in Nelson’s ear.

“ _Louis_ Tomlinson, come on down, son!”

“I fucking hate you both,” Louis snaps under his breath as he jogs down the steps. He tries to ignore the eyes watching him, but it’s harder to do than it sounds.

Once on the ground, Louis makes his way over to Nelson and Zayn. “Listen, Coach—”

“We’re down a rally girl,” Dixon explains, joining the small group while the rest of the team watches from the outside. “Tara Bentez transferred to St. Helen’s this year, but no one replaced her as Zayn’s rally girl. So, you are now his rally…boy. Voluntarily, of course.”

Louis’ eyes widen. “Listen, Coach, I’m really not interested. I didn’t even volunteer.”

Zayn nudges his hips against Louis’. “Am I really that bad, Tommo?”

“Are you taking Calculus, son?” Nelson asks.

Louis frowns. “Um, yes?”

“I’ll talk to Mrs. Nelson and ask her about giving your first test grade a curve, alright?” Nelson bargains. “Are you good at Calculus? Does a curve sound good at all?”

The sound of a curve really is music to Louis’ ears. If Calculus is anything like PreCalc, a curve could be his hail Mary, especially this early into the quarter, what with college applications and all. He knows that, if his mom were to hear these conditions and learn that Louis’ even considering this, she would slap him upside the head.

But, his mom _isn’t_ there.

“Malik, right?”

Nelson, Dixon, and Zayn both nod.

With a sigh, Louis agrees to the deal.

“If I had known about this arrangement, I would’ve written your name on my underwear,” Louis whispers once the coaches have gone to continue their practice.

Zayn snickers. “Next time, then.”

Across the field, Louis can see Harry looking over, arms crossed attractively over his chest. Louis smiles and waves over, receiving a smile and wave right back.

-

Being a rally boy is harder than Louis had thought.

At 5:30am Friday morning, he’s woken up by a text belonging to a group message. A few numbers are in his contacts and he quickly realizes that this is the ‘rally girl’ group chat.

_WAKE UP CALL – ALL RALLY GIRLS AND BOYS REPORT TO THE SCHOOL BY 6: 30. BRING YOUR OWN SUPPLIES!!!_

Louis frowns in his sleepy haze and texts Zayn with a screenshot from the group message, knowing that the boy’ll be up for his 5am practice.

_wtf does this mean?_

_u need to decorate my locker. #237_

_w what??_

_idk b creative now stfu let me sleep aha._

_i didnt even have coffee yet :(_

Louis leaves it at that with a big groan before getting up and heading to the shower. The last time he woke up this early was freshman year—and _then_ he had been enthusiastic as well. That had been a short-lived trend.

As it turns out, rally girls are passionate about being rally girls. When he walks into the school to the designated meeting spot, he can see the group sharing designs they had drawn for their designated players’ locker and discussing ideas. Louis had no idea it was this intense. Christ, if it hadn’t been for the group text, he wouldn’t have even _shown_ _up_.

When Louis joins the circle of girls, Kennedy grins and claps her hands. “Alright, y’all, this is this year’s first Wyatt Lions game against East Lake! It might be non-conference, but this game counts as much as any other game. In honor of this day, it is our rally girl—and boy—duty to celebrate our players. So, as stated in the group text, y’all should’ve brought your own supplies!”

Once they’re set off on their own, Louis wanders through the halls until he comes upon locker 237. A few of the other players must have lockers in the 230’s aisle as well, because Louis’ joined by about three rally girls. One of them is Kennedy; Harry’s rally girl. Her assigned locker is two away from Louis’, giving a comfortable amount of space between them.

As she gets to work, Louis helplessly reaches into the plastic bag that he had filled with whatever artsy-crafty materials he could find in a timespan of five minutes before leaving the house that morning. He knows Zayn, and he knows what he likes, and he (likes to think) he knows how the football player thinks. So, this really can’t be _that_ hard. Even if all he has to work with is a box of crayons and a sharpie.

It turns out that it isn’t all that easy. The sharpie lays on the metal perfectly fine. That is, when it’s simple lines. When Louis tries to fill in the doodles, the ink all smudges and leaves white spaces. He groans in frustration and rummages through his plastic bag, trying to find something to that can improve the mess he’s created on Zayn’s locker. He quickly comes to the realization that, not only does he not have anything to fix the locker, but he also drew on it in sharpie— _permanent marker._ Louis groans even louder and plants his forehead against the sharpie-covered metal, probably staining his skin.

“Having issues there, Tommo?”

Louis reluctantly turns his head, not moving his forehead, to see Kennedy looking at him with an amused and slightly sympathetic smile. He hesitates before nodding, letting out a long sigh. “Yeah. A few.”

The girl chuckles and steps back to look at Zayn’s locker. Louis steps back as well, hoping that when he looks at it that it won’t look as bad. It unfortunately looks just as bad as it had five seconds ago. Kennedy flicks her short hair to the side before she starts rummaging through her own bag.

“You’re not the first person to have accidentally used sharpie on one of these lockers, trust me,” Kennedy says, handing Louis an unlabeled spray bottle.

Louis takes it with a raised brow, looking from the bottle to the locker to the girl in front of him. “Um. What is it?”

“I’m not really sure, it’s meant to be a secret. But, I’ve heard that it’s a mix of, like, Windex, bleach, Lysol, and vodka. I think. A senior from a few years ago came up with it after a few sophomores covered a whole block of lockers in sharpie. You have no idea how many lives that this shit has saved.”

After he sprays the mystery mixture onto the mess that is Zayn’s locker, Kennedy says, “Just let it settle for five minutes. Then, color over it with this.” She hands him a dry-erase marker. “It should come off easy as pie.”

Louis smiles gratefully, but not too gratefully. He doesn’t even know if the spray will work yet and he _still_ hasn’t had any coffee. Not to mention that the clock hasn’t even struck seven yet. He’s surprised to see that the spray works perfectly and, after a few more sprays the mess is soon gone.

“Wow,” he says, stepping back to get a better look at the newly clean locker. “That turned out a bit better than I thought it would.”

Kennedy and Christian’s rally girl offer him their own markers that leave perfect lines and no streaks, so that’s a plus. He ends up drawing a few doodles of rocket ships and cartoon figures, plus a few cruder drawings that Zayn and the teaching staff may not appreciate as much, but Louis isn’t deterred as he draws a particularly hairy testicle.

Once completed, he sends a picture of the locker to Zayn.

_like?_

_def_

-

Friday night, they win the game against East Lake. Jay gives Louis the short but meaningful ‘be safe’ lecture before her son is leaving the game with Dani and Eleanor. The plan is to meet Zayn at a post-game party at kicker David Banks’ house out on Keger Pond.

When they arrive to the house, Louis’ more or less surprised to see that it looks as if no one’s home.

“It’s out back, right?” Eleanor asks worriedly. “It looks empty. You’re sure that this is the right house?”

“Yeah,” Louis replies, grabbing two handles of vodka and a liter of Sprite from beneath the back seats. He hands the soda to Eleanor. “Zayn said he’s out by the pool with one of the guys and they’ll walk us through.”

Dani rolls her eyes and groans as they get out and walk around the house. “This is too sketchy. A bon fire? In the middle of the woods? Overrun with drunken meatheads? Does that not _scream_ forest fire?”

Louis and Eleanor laugh, wrapping their arms around Dani’s shoulders as they walk. “You’ll be fine, D. Maybe you’ll even get laid?” Eleanor giggles.

The dark haired girl in the middle snorts. “You two go get laid while I try to prevent intoxicated football players from running into a bon fire.”

Out by the pool, Louis can see Zayn and Harry standing with beers in their hands and a cigarette between Zayn’s lips. They’re laughing at something and Harry takes a drink. When they see the three walking up, Harry smiles and Zayn removes the cigarette from his lips.

“Hey, finally,” Zayn laughs, fist bumping Louis. He grins when he sees the alcohol under their arms. “You guys pulled through. Sweet.”

“It’s better than paying five bucks each for the keg when Jimmy can get us some for free,” Eleanor points out, kissing Zayn on the cheek.

“All you had to do was show him your tits,” Dani snickers, making Zayn and Eleanor both laugh.

Louis can see Harry watching him from the corner of his eye as Zayn claps his shoulder. “Ready for a hike, ladies? And, Louis?”

The three of them groan, making Harry and Zayn laugh. “It’s not that bad,” Harry speaks up. Louis begs to differ. Sure, it’s only the beginning of September and the weather is still pretty nice, but the fact is that it’s _dark_ and _long_ and the last thing Louis wants is to twist his ankle.

“Anyone want a cigarette?” Zayn offers as they start walking down the trail, flicking some ash from his cigarette off into the side of the path by the trees.

Everyone turns his offer down, to which Zayn just shrugs and says, “More for me, then.”

They start walking and, after five minutes, Eleanor starts to groan. “How far is it? I’m wearing flats, not hiking boots.”

“It’s only another five or ten minutes,” Harry replies, taking up the rear while they walk single file, all following the glow of the flashlight on Zayn’s phone.

Eleanor is in front of Harry and keeps grabbing onto Louis’ shoulders every time she trips, nearly bringing him down with her, which results in Louis grabbing onto Dani who’ll just fall face first into the ground, preferring that over holding onto Zayn. The third time this happens, Louis stops and grabs Eleanor’s arm. “El, I can’t keep doing this; walk in front of me.”

The girl pouts and pushes her hair off her shoulder. “But, what am I gonna hold on to when I fall?”

“As long as it’s not me, I don’t give a shit,” Louis laughs, letting Eleanor go in front of him.

Then, they’re all moving again. As they come up to a wider part of the trail, Louis feels Harry start walking beside him. “Sorry about the long walk.” The boy’s hands are stuffed in the pockets of his Lions sweatshirt with his hair hanging down to the right. It’s long, Louis notes. Long enough to braid.

Louis shrugs, feeling a familiar heat creep up his neck. Thank god it’s dark enough that Harry can’t see his skin shift from tan to red. “It’s not so bad. Good thing it isn’t too cold; then I might not be such a happy camper. Or, hiker, I guess.”

Harry chuckles and moves a branch out of Louis’ way. What a gentleman. “What’d you think of the game?” he asks after a short span of silence.

“It was good, yeah. You made two amazing touchdowns, QB,” Louis praises with a grin. “You’re up there with, like, Young and Tittle.”

The QB raises a brow and laughs. There’s that damn dimple again, Louis thinks.

“You know Young and Tittle?”

Louis nods. “Of course I do, Styles. I’m offended that you’d doubt my knowledge of football.”

“Isn’t Tittle from the 50’s, 60’s?”

“I don’t know _that_ much,” Louis says. He looks up ahead to see Eleanor now on Zayn’s back, the wide receiver’s beer sloshing onto the ground and cigarette tucked behind his ear. “So. You’re the star this year, Harry. You’re officially Wyatt’s wet dream.”

Harry snorts and shakes his head. “I guess so.” He gives Louis a lopsided smile. “If I say it, then I sound like an asshole. But, if I deny it, then I’m just a modest asshole.” He snorts. “I’m talking about being the star, by the way. Not a wet dream.”

Louis laughs and covers his mouth with his hand. “I think you’re the farthest thing from an asshole, Harry Styles.”

“Here we are!” Zayn laughs, letting Eleanor off his back, the girl toppling into Dani who then nearly falls on top of Louis. But, Harry pulls Louis to the side just in time. Definitely a gentleman, Louis thinks again. A tall, warm, muscular, _handsome_ gentleman.

From a few feet away, Louis can feel the heat radiating from the fire. People are scattered around, sitting on planks of wood or just with their butts in the dirt. There are a few coolers down in the shallow water of the pond, keeping the booze cold. Pretty clever.

The first person, besides Harry, who catches Louis’ attention, is Sophia. She’s over by the water in mud stained jeans and Liam’s Lions hoodie. For a split second, Louis envisions himself in _Harry’s_ Lions hoodie. Only for a second, though.

“Hi, Soph,” Louis greets, kissing Sophia’s cheek before grabbing a Bud Light from the cooler.

“Look at you, walkin’ in with the town’s favorite QB,” she teases, throwing her arm around Louis’ shoulders. “Don’t think I didn’t see you blushin’.”

Louis groans and laughs, gulping down as much of his beer as he can. “Think you might need to visit a doctor. When was the last time you had your eyes checked?”

Sophia laughs so hard it comes out like a cackle. Before she can say anything else to further embarrass Louis, Niall’s wandering over, looking just as intoxicated, if not more so.

“Tommo!” He shouts. “How’ve you been, sweetums?”

Louis laughs and wraps an arm around Niall’s neck, feeling what’s most likely beer all over Niall’s front. “Better now that I see you, Horan.”

The running back wraps an arm around Louis’ waist. “I’ve— I gotta tell you, Lou—” _burp_ “—I’m heartbroken that you’re not my rally girl.”

“Rally _boy_ , Horan. And, please, like you’re not in love with Amelia.”

They all turn to see Harry walking up with a bottle of Corona.

“Sorry about him,” Harry chuckles, letting Niall nuzzle into the crook of his neck. Louis ignores the look Sophia shoots between him and the quarterback.

“No problem; there isn’t much difference between sober Niall and drunk Niall anyways,” Louis chuckles, having more of his beer. “How much has he had to drink anyways?”

“Shot-gunned five beers and got pretty cozy with the Fireball,” Harry explains, his hair tied up all of a sudden. Even like this, Louis finds himself getting all hot and bothered. The idea of Harry’s hair braided comes to mind once more.

Suddenly, the headlights from someone’s Chevy turn on, along with some Jake Owen song. A few people start whistling and all of a sudden, Louis thinks, _This is Texas_.

“Oops, I’ve got to go find my pretty little fullback,” Sophia hiccups, pressing a messy kiss to each of the three boys’ cheeks. “I’ll see y’all later!” Then, she’s off trying to find Liam who’s probably off with Andy doing something stupid.

A few beers later and Louis’ feeling a bit light headed. He’s moved around a bit, every once in a while bumping into the same person twice. But, for the most part, he mingles. He gets the occasional ‘rally-boy’ comment, which he either laughs at or ignores, depending on who makes the comment.

He finds Dani smoking from a beer can that’s been turned into a pipe with Eleanor and Zayn. The brunette smiles at him as he sits on the plank beside her. “Hey, Lou,” Dani says, resting her head on his shoulder.

When El’s done taking a hit, her and Zayn look over and grin. “Want a hit, rally boy?” Zayn asks with a smirk.

Louis leans over and smacks Zayn’s forehead. “Fuck you, 12.” But, he takes a hit anyways. It isn’t the best weed—a bit too harsh and dry, but it’ll do.

It gets a colder by midnight, drawing Louis closer to the fire. He settles next to Stan, his best friend from preschool and beyond, letting the boy rest his head on his shoulder. Louis wraps his arm around Stan’s shoulders and finishes what must be his fourth beer. Judging by El and Dani’s current states, he assumes that they’ve most likely demolished the Burnett’s and Sprite. He’s not as drunk as half the kids are, and he almost feels left out, but he feels a bit better when he sees Niall fall face first into the lake and four of the girls’ volleyball players laughing their asses off around him before actually leaning down to help him.

He spreads his legs in front of him and watches as Eleanor drapes herself across his thighs. She hums and sighs, resting her head on Louis’ groin. “It’s a shame you’re not straight, Lou,” she gurgles, looking up at him.

Louis and Stan both snort. “Why’s that?” Louis asks.

“We would look cute together,” she replies, her voice coated with a thick Southern drawl, like from those old Westerns. It’s always stronger—rougher—after she’s gotten a few drinks in her, the sound a far cry from her sweet, sugarcoated, sober voice.

Stan fakes a gag. Louis wouldn’t be surprised if it was a legit retch of vomit. “You two look related!” he barks, leaning forward and nearly toppling into Louis’ lap and on top of Eleanor. “Why do y’all think people call you _Twin One_ and _Twin Two_?”

The comment is wasted on Eleanor as she begins to drift into an alcohol-induced sleep, arms wrapped tightly around Louis’ legs and head in his lap. Louis sets his empty can on the ground and yanks Stan’s head back onto his shoulder.

“Go to sleep, man,” he mumbles, not in the mood for more obnoxious, drunk conversation. He isn’t drunk enough for that.

Everyone starts to mellow out by three, lying down on the leftover planks and some of the soberer boys stomping out the rest of the fire with their thick boots. Harry’s one of them, Louis notices. He takes a moment, through hooded eyes, to admire just how _good_ Harry looks. His legs are skinny and long, but they’re _muscular_. Louis can see that much through those damn skinny jeans the boy is always wearing. _God_ , those thighs. And don’t even get Louis started on his arms. Or his _hands_.

He must’ve been starring more intensely then he realized, because Harry looks over at him with a raised brow. The QB waves, almost shyly, before he goes back to stomping out the fire.

Louis smiles sheepishly, yawning into the top of Stan’s head. Everyone’s asleep, as far as Louis can tell, save for those that left a bit earlier and are already crashing at the house or made their way home with their respected DD. The smoke from the fire masks the smell of stale beer and vomit, which Louis is thankful for, as his weakened stomach (thank you, Bud Light) might not be able to handle such smells. After a few minutes of watching Harry, David, and a few second-stringers stomp out the fire and pick up trash, Louis starts to doze off.

“Hey.”

Louis feels a bit of whiplash as he lifts his head, catching himself from falling into unconsciousness. His heavy eyes widen when he sees Harry standing over him.

“Hi,” he mutters, rubbing a heavy hand over his eyes. “What times’it?”

Harry shrugs, looking above Louis to nod a thanks to one of the guys that was picking up the empty bottles and trashed cups. He looks back down at Louis with a soft, hazy smile. “Like, four.”

Louis nods, shifting his shoulders and legs under his friends’ weight. “Everyone’s back at the house?”

“Yeah, most of ‘em,” Harry says. He carefully leans down and lifts Eleanor into his arms. “Why don’t we go join ‘em, huh?”

“As long as _I_ don’t have to carry Stan.” Louis shoves at Stan’s chest until the boy wakes up with a grunt. When his eyes open, Louis wraps an arm around his waist and starts to stand. “You good, bro?”

Stan nods. “Sure, man. _Fuck_ , why did you let me drink so much?” he drunkenly mumbles, beer and remnants of whatever had previously been in his stomach splattered all down his chest. “Am I an alcoholic? I think I am. Why did you let me drink so much?”

Louis and Harry both laugh as they walk down the trail, a few guys walking behind Louis while Harry leads the way, Eleanor held bridal style in his arms. It takes a bit longer to get to the house than it took to get to the party at the start of the night. Louis quickly realizes he’s drunker than he thought and Stan vomits approximately three times before they reach the yard.

Inside, Louis can spot a few bodies on the couches and one on the floor, everyone covered in towels or blankets. He’s pretty sure he sees Dani squished between Zayn and a girl from the track team on the pullout. One of the guys locks the doors behind them and directs Harry to the basement where the majority of people are sleeping. Louis follows, dragging Stan down the stairs.

There are three huge leather couches with nine people sleeping on them, head to foot, and one taken loveseat. Harry settles Eleanor on the last partially free loveseat, pulling off his jacket off to cover her with.

“You can put him on the floor somewhere,” one of the guys tells Louis, grabbing a pillow and plopping it on the ground before settling on the floor himself.

Louis nods and rests Stan down. He pets his head before standing up and cracking his back. “Where does this leave us, then?” he asks, turning to look up at Harry.

The QB gingerly wraps a hand around Louis’ wrist and silently leads him back up to the main floor. The house is generally big, Louis can tell, so he isn’t that surprised when he finds Harry pushing open the door to an empty bedroom.

Louis snorts. “Trying to bed me already, Styles? This your reward for winning the game? A free room and a naïve, vulnerable individual? The individual would be me in this scenario, by the way.”

Harry chokes on his breath as he stumbles in and starts undoing his belt. “Not tryin’ to fuck you,” he mutters. There’s a smile on his face that Louis isn’t sure how to decipher. Maybe that’s because Harry’s just an undecipherable person or maybe Louis’ just too drunk. Maybe they’re _both_ too drunk. The quarterback proceeds to pull off his thin, white t-shirt and yanks his pants down.

The air in Louis’ throat comes out in a wheeze, which would be more embarrassing if Louis were in a right state of mind. “Shit,” he giggles, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re, like, really fucking hot.”

Red rises on Harry’s cheeks at the comment, shaking his head fondly. “Get in bed, Louis. You’re drunk.”

“Mm…join me, then,” Louis says, doing as told after getting undressed and tossing his clothes into a pile on the carpet.

The bed is cold and the sheets are tucked too tightly under the mattress like they are at hotels. It takes a bit of time, but eventually, with Harry’s help, Louis gets it loose. When he climbs in, goose bumps grow on his skin in a way that makes him shiver.

“You’re not naked, right?” Harry asks before climbing in after Louis.

Louis chuckles and wraps the sheets tighter around himself. “No, Harry.”

Once he’s gotten confirmation, Harry climbs into the bed in just his socks and boxers.

It’s quiet, the only light being the moon shining in through the window. Neither of them close their eyes. Louis isn’t quite ready to sleep yet.

“How come we get a bed and not the floor?” he whispers after a while.

“David owed me,” Harry explains slowly. “My rally girl took anthro last year and had a cheat sheet. I convinced her to give it to me so I could give it to Dave.”

Louis nods. “Cheating in the name of football. Dedication right there.”

Harry chuckles and rolls onto his back. He sits up a bit on an elbow and uses his other hand to free his hair, brown locks settling atop his shoulders. In the silver, limited amount of light streaming in through the window, Louis’ taken aback by just how beautiful Harry is. He’s got long, broad shoulders and a soft, muscled chest, the kind that would make a great pillow. His nipples are small and dark too—perky, Louis thinks. They’re always so perky.

“Do you have three nipples?” Louis asks, spotting a mark too big and dark to be just a beauty or birthmark. He had heard Eleanor talk about Harry’s ‘perfect nipples’, but never how he had three of them.

“Nope.” Harry pulls the sheet down further and points to yet another darker mark. “Four.”

And, well, Louis can’t help but laugh. “How did I never notice, after all these years?” he giggles, hand covering his mouth. “ _Nipple boy_.”

The quarterback laughs, head thrown back against the pillow. He shakes his head fondly and turns to smile at Louis. Their eyes meet and, instead of looking away, they both hold each other’s gaze. Yeah, they’re definitely _both_ too drunk.

A blush rises up Harry’s neck as he rests his arm over the sheet. “I’m gonna go to bed, alright? You’re okay? Not gonna get sick?”

Louis rolls his eyes and shakes his head, tucking the sheet under his chin. He’s probably hogging it, the covers, but until Harry complains, he’s going to continue to do so. “’m fine, mom.”

He closes his eyes before he can see Harry roll his eyes and chuckle quietly.

Somewhere between then and when they wake up at seven, they’ve both moved towards the center of the bed. Louis’ got his cheek and palm pressed to Harry’s shoulder blades and Harry’s got his ankle linked on top of Louis’. One might even go as far to call the position spooning. It would be weak spooning, in Louis’ opening, but spooning nonetheless.

They both wake up simultaneously to the sound of the door opening and their clothes being thrown over their faces.

Harry jumps up, much to Louis’ disappointment. His back was warm and made for a nice resting place for his sore, achy head.

“What the fuck, David?” Louis hears Harry groan.

“My parents are gonna be back in two hours. You’ve gotta go, man.”

When the door closes and Louis feels Harry lie back down, Louis opens his eyes. The quarterback is on top of the sheets, his nearly bare body on display for all to see—all being Louis. And, if he’s not mistaken, Harry’s either got a big cock or a bit of morning wood. Louis is fine with either option.

Fortunately, Louis is no longer drunk enough to voice this curiosity.

Harry looks over at Louis and smiles, his whole face shy and unsure. “G’morning.”

Louis nods and smiles back in a similar fashion. “Morning.” He sits up and stretches his arms above his head. He’s also suddenly aware of the fact that he’s also only in his boxers. “Shit—we have to go, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs. He stares at Louis for a second before sitting up and getting out of bed.

While Louis isn’t drunk, he’s extremely hung over, and the urge to move from his current position is slim to none. So, instead of moving, he watches Harry move. He watches the way his muscles move in his back, his thick arms bulge as he yanks on his jeans, and the way his thighs have to squeeze into his jeans.

“Louis?”

The boy quickly snaps out of his daydreaming and looks up at Harry. “Huh?”

Harry chuckles and holds up Louis’ shirt, which now resembles an alcohol and vomit soaked rag more so than a shirt. Thanks, Stan. “Uh, this is yours?”

Louis sighs and nods. “Yeah. Or, it was.”

“Here.” Harry bends down and grabs his own sweatshirt off the floor. He tosses it over to Louis, along with Louis’ jeans. “You might wanna have Stan buy you another shirt.”

“What’re you gonna wear?” Louis asks as he stands and pulls on his jeans.

“My jeans,” Harry laughs as he fixes his boots on his feet. He bends down again and hands Louis his phone. “You’ve got some missed calls.”

“Thanks.” Louis takes the phone with one hand while zipping up his fly with the other.

Sure enough, he’s got missed calls from Eleanor, Dani, Lottie, and texts from the same bunch, as well as from his mother.

 _When are you coming home?_ _xo_ , sent at 6:30 in the morning.

According to all the other texts, his friends had all left with someone else or each other, leaving Louis without a ride. And a shirtless quarterback. There _is_ such thing as a silver lining, Louis thinks.

“Everything okay?” Harry asks as he checks his own phone.

“Um, yeah,” Louis says. “Except that all of my friends are dicks and left and now I don’t have a ride.”

Harry smiles and reaches into his back pocket. He pulls out his keys and swings them around on his finger. “Would you like one? A ride, I mean.”

“That would be great.” Louis unlocks his phone and texts his mom back, knowing she’s probably close to having everyone in town come search for him.

_be home twenty minutes tops_

It takes her a minimum of ten seconds to reply back.

_Who’s bringing you home?_

Louis bites his lip. He considers lying, saying he has a ride from Stan or some random that his mom couldn’t care less about. But, he knows his mother, and he knows, the second she knows that he’s on his way home, that she’ll be waiting for him on the front porch with a cup of tea and a too-sweet smile.

_Harry_

_Styles?_

_Yeah_

_Really…_

Louis doesn’t reply and pockets his phone. He figures that’s an easier solution than, say, having to explain over text how he ended up with no ride and a shirtless quarterback

Harry smiles, waiting by the bedroom door. “All set?”

“Yep.” Louis pulls on Harry’s sweatshirt and follows him down the hall.

The sweatshirt smells like a mix of bonfire and cologne, those elements strong enough to block out the underlying smell of stale beer and cigarettes. It was a bit baggy on Harry, though tight around the football player’s shoulders, but it’s _big_ on Louis. The sleeves go way past his hands and the bottom hangs around his thighs. It’s heavy and warm though, and Louis has no intention of giving it back anytime soon.

Downstairs, there are still a few people scattered around. David and a few other guys on the team are picking up pillows and blankets, some even spraying Febreze over every surface. David’s girlfriend is sprawled out on the couch and waves as Harry leads Louis out of the house.

Unlike some of the other parties thrown by football players, the house looks untouched both inside and outside, save for the garbage can that’s overturned in the driveway.

Harry tosses Louis his keys. “It’s the green Chevy parked by the barn.”

Louis catches the keys and nods, watching Harry wander over to the overturned trash can. Seriously. A gentleman.

Just like Harry had said, his old truck is parked by the barn against the fence separating the road from the field where there are cows scattered across the green grass. There’s a Longhorn bumper sticker, as well as a number _57_ and a pair of green paw prints on his back window.

The door opens with a creek, a few receipts falling to the ground from Dick’s sporting goods and Bucc-ee’s. He picks them up and stuffs them back where they were as he climbs in. The seat is obviously molded to Harry’s body, the leather sunken in and worn in certain places. Louis inserts the key and turns it, the truck springing to life. The Doobie Brothers roars through the speakers, and Louis’ quick to turn it down.

Once the car is up and running, Louis gets out and goes around the front of the truck to climb into the passenger seat. As he buckles, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

_harry styles is driving you home????? EXPLAIN_

Of course his mom would tell Lottie about Harry. At this point, Louis’ sure that all of Wyatt knows that they’re together.

 _harry + truck = ride home_ , he texts back.

_don’t be an ass. did u smash?_

Louis cringes at his sister’s crudeness.

_JUST a ride home. end of. don’t be gross_

Harry climbs in a moment later and smiles. “Thanks for that. I figured Dave would have a hard time explaining why the trash was overturned with bottles of vodka and cans of beer all over the driveway.”

Louis nods. “Yeah, he might’ve had a hard time getting out of that one.”

They both laugh as Harry starts driving, the ride a bit bumpy as he goes over the mounds of grass and dirt until he hits the pavement.

“You had fun last night?” Harry asks a good five minutes into the ride.

The older boy nods. “Yeah, it was good. You?”

Harry nods. “I’m glad you came. We haven’t partied together in a while.”

Louis grins, remembering that last time he had found himself drunk and in the same vicinity as Harry Styles. It had been the last full week of July. Kelly Pierce’s parents were spending a week in Mexico for their anniversary and, naturally, everyone spent the week getting absolutely _hammered_. 

“Eleanor’s got quite the crush on you, I think,” Louis says after a brief moment of silence. “Much like the rest of Wyatt,” he adds. _Like me_ , he thinks.

The quarterback snorts and grins. “I don’t know if crush it the right word. More like an attraction or something. She’s cute, though.”

 _She’s cute? Am I_ not _cute?_

“But, I’d never date her,” Harry says, as if reading Louis’ mind. “I’m pretty sure Jimmy and Shimwell both have a thing for her. I mean, _I_ show Jimmy my tits all the time and he never gives _me_ free beer.”

Louis laughs, his head thrown back against the back of his seat. “Christ, man.” He shakes his head fondly. “With tits like yours, you’d think you’d be getting thirty packs per nipple. You’d be everyone’s plug—the pack-mule of the party.”

Harry chuckles and looks over at Louis briefly before turning back to the road. “You remember last night? My nipples?”

“Well, duh. How could I forget your lovely nipples? I still don’t know how I’ve never noticed them before.”

“You seemed pretty out of it,” Harry points out. He hesitates, a light shade of pink painting the back of his neck and his cheeks. “I uh, I was pretty sure you were trying to seduce me last night.”

And, well—

“Yeah?” Louis says, though it sounds more like a croak than anything else.

Harry nods, that pink color turning into more of a red by the second. “I mean, you were drunk, so—”

“Look, Harry, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Louis says, looking in front of him as he speaks. “I was drunk, yeah, but, like, I’m also gay, so if that, like—”

“Who said I was uncomfortable?” Harry interrupts. “And, this—or anything, really—has nothing to do with you being gay, Louis. I’m definitely not one to shame you for that.”

“What do you mean?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs. “I mean, I’m not exactly straight either, so.”

 _Oh_.

Louis nods, slowly, and bites his lip before speaking again. “Well, either way, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable with my drunken actions.”

“It’s fine, Louis,” Harry reassures, his voice sounding more sure then it had moments before. “You were…flattering, actually.”

“Flattering?” Louis squawks. “How on earth was anything I said flattering?”

The quarterback laughs as he stops at a red light in front of the movie theater. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you mentioned how hot you think I am.”

That did happen, Louis remembers with a wince. “I did, didn’t I.”

Harry nods.

“If it makes you feel better, I wasn’t lying,” Louis says, feeling a bit braver as the light in front of them turns green. “You’re quite the looker, five-seven.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks.

Louis shrugs. “Yeah.” He turns to look at the quarterback.

Harry looks over at Louis for a mere second, only a second, before looking back at the road in front of them. “I think you’re pretty attractive yourself.”

And if Louis doesn’t blush the brightest shade of red, then so help him. He doesn’t say anything; just shakes his head fondly and looks out the window.

The rest of the drive to Louis’ is quick, and he finds himself a bit disappointed when Harry pulls up against his lawn.

“Thanks for the ride,” Louis says with a smile, hoping he doesn’t sound as letdown about having to part with the football player as he feels.

Harry nods with a charming smile, like one you’d expect to see on a Disney prince. It’s unfair how handsome he is, really.

“No problem,” the quarterback replies.

Suddenly, Louis’ front door opens, revealing Jay and Abbey Mae, the blue-ticked hound standing by the edge of the yard excitedly.

Jay waves from the front step, her smile far too sweet to be genuine. “Good morning, Harry!”

Harry waves back and flashes that smile again. “Good morning to you too, ma’am!”

Louis quickly gets out of the car. “I’ll see you later?” he asks through the open passenger side window.

The boy nods and waves to Jay once more, saying goodbye again before driving off.

When Louis turns, he sees that his mom’s smile has turned to a raised brow and pursed lips. “Care to explain why you’re wearing a sweatshirt that most certainly isn’t yours and why this town’s quarterback—the one you’ve been _thirsting_ over—is conveniently shirtless?”

While his mother can be known as one of the kindest women in Wyatt—in all of Texas, Louis thinks—she’s also one of the scariest when she wants to be.

He gags. “God, mom, I’m not ‘ _thirsting_ ’ over him,” Louis argues with a frown. “Please don’t make me regret telling you those types of things.”

His mom just sighs fondly. “Okay, forget I said anything. I just think it’s suspicious, is all, that you have had a thing for him and he just so happens to be driving you home early in the morning. Shirtless.”

“I promise, mom, it’s nothing,” Louis says, side stepping Abbey Mae who’s sniffing what is most likely her own poop, but not before giving her a scratch behind the ear first. “He just gave me a ride. That’s it. And his sweatshirt. I was cold.”

Jay nods, her lips still pursed and her arms crossed over his chest. “Well, I’d appreciate you giving me a heads up next time. Like a few hours before, maybe. Also, let me know if anyone is partially naked, thanks.”

Louis kisses his mom on the cheek as he makes his way inside the house. “Noted. Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, love you too,” she replies, finally smiling as Louis crosses the threshold.

Inside, Louis can smell coffee and bacon and can hear talking from in the kitchen. Sure enough Lottie and the twins are seated around the table. They all look up when Louis waltzes through.

“Good morning,” he singsongs, hoping none of the girls make any comments about the sweatshirt or Harry. He knows his luck is slim. But, there’s no harm in hoping, especially when Lottie’s involved.

“Where have you been?” Lottie asks smugly, a knowing look in her blue eyes.

Louis kisses her cheek and says, “As if you don’t already know.”

“Oh, I know,” Lottie says smartly. “I just want to hear you say it out loud.”

Jay pats Lottie on the head on her way to the stove as the kettle starts whistling. “Leave your brother alone, my punishment for him is going to be enough.”

“What?” Louis and the girls all ask at once. The girls all sound a little more excited than Louis does.

“Curfew equals punishment,” Jay explains calmly. “So, to make up for your mistake, you’ll be picking the girls up from school every day this week and you’ll bringing the dog to the vet on Wednesday.”

Louis groans as he plops himself down at the table. “Don’t you think that’s a little excessive?”

“No, not at all,” Jay replies. “What kind of example would I be setting for your sisters if I let you get away with, not only ignoring curfew, but spending the night with a boy that happens to be naked—”

“He wasn’t _naked_ —”

“—when he drops you off?”

“He was naked?” Lottie asks excitedly while the twins both gag.

“He wasn’t naked,” Louis repeats. “And, okay, I get your point. But, only a week, right? Because, as a rally boy, I have things I need to be doing after school.”

Jay rolls her eyes fondly as she pours herself a cup of tea. “As long as it doesn’t happen again, it’s just a week.”

A week. Louis can behave for a week.

-

By the time Louis gets to work, he’s five minutes late for his shift and his section is booming. Not to mention they’re running low on regular coffee, meaning they’re going to have to let someone go to head to the store or pass the decaf off as regular.

Everyone is still dressed in their church clothes, including Louis, who didn’t have enough time to exchange his pressed khakis for jeans or leather loafers for sneakers. Everyone looks nice, though. Louis can see the Garret brothers sitting at their usual booth but, instead of their faded cowboy boots and blue jeans, Louis can only see shiny loafers and buttoned-up shirts. Albie still wears his signature cowboy hat, but he’s exchanged his dirty brown one for a crisp black one, sitting big and tall on his shiny, bald head.

“Honey, how are you?” Loretta Moore asks, her small, veiny hands gripping Louis’ wrist as he stands in front of their table. “How’s your mother? She works so hard, I tell you.” The metal of her many rings and bracelets are cold against Louis’ warm skin.

“She’s good, Mrs. Moore,” Louis replies. “I’ll let her know you asked about her, I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. How about some more coffee for the table?”

By noon, the rush has evened out into a steady flow of service. Louis’ section is filled, save for a large corner booth and a two-seater by the window, and they’re all either ready to pay or slowly making their way through their meals.

Louis’ bringing table three’s dirty dishes to the dishwasher when Mia comes up behind him. “Juan’s goin’ to Bucc-ee’s to grab some more coffee and milk, so we’re splitting his section until he gets back.”

“Okay,” Louis mumbles as he manages to set the five dishes and bowls down without letting them clatter across the counter. “I can take the half closest to my section, if that’s easier.”

Mia nods and goes back to the floor, curly hair bouncy against her head with every hurried step. He follows her out, a fresh page on the front of his notepad, and makes his way to one of Juan’s tables. Only one is full; the other two empty and ready to be seated. God, the one day that Miguel decides not to come just _has_ to be one of their busiest days.

Louis’ about to go grab the coffee pot and search for any refills when a particularly large party walks in, all loud voices and immature laughter. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out whom it could possibly be.

They’re all still dressed in their church clothes, only a few of them sporting grass and dirt stains on their knees—no doubt from a quick game after the service.

Louis doesn’t spot Harry at first but, when he does, he instantly wants to sink deep into the ground until only the hair on the top of his head is visible— _if_ that.

Harry looks good. Like, _good_. And, Louis’ seen Harry in something other than a jersey and jeans, so he knows that the boy can look human sometimes. But, this is beyond human. This is unreal, ethereal; god-like. The tan of his skin looks gold against the soft, light blue of his button down shirt, the material clinging at all the right places and going tight around his skinny waist, meeting the tight press of his grey trousers that cup his ass in a way that makes Louis’ mouth water.

“Tommo!” Beau shouts from where he’s practically hanging off Danny’s back.

“Hey, boys,” Louis greets, trying not to stare as Harry’s lips curl into a heavenly smile. “You can head towards the big booth in the corner, I’ll be right there.”

The horde of football players noisily makes their way through the diner towards the table, some patting Louis on the shoulder as they make their way while others choose to pat Louis’ butt as if he’s their rally girl or part of the team. Zayn winks, which Louis can appreciate and reciprocates by sticking his tongue in his cheek, receiving a laugh in return.

“Hey.”

Louis turns and, with a start, nearly runs into Harry.

“Hey, five-seven. Way to sneak up on me.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to,” Harry replies. He sticks his hands in the front pockets of his trousers, only his fingers and knuckles being able to tuck into the fabric. “I didn’t see you after church. I saw your family, though.”

 _Were you looking for me_? Louis manages _not_ to ask; despite how much he wants to. Instead, he settles for, “Yeah, I knew I’d be late for work if I stuck around, so…”

Harry nods. “Right, yeah, that makes sense.”

They’re quiet for a moment, eyes going from each other to their shoes.

“Um, thanks for the ride Harry,” Louis says, finally speaking up. “You really helped me out.”

“Stop, it was nothing.” He smiles sympathetically. “I heard I got you in trouble, though. For like, me being shirtless and all.”

Louis blushes and shifts his weight from one foot to another. “Oh um, yeah, I’m kind of grounded. How did you hear that?”

“Zayn mentioned it earlier. I felt bad that you might’ve gotten in trouble because of me.” Harry swallows. “Is it okay that I know?”

“I don’t care that you know, it’s fine,” Louis replies quickly. “Don’t feel bad about it either. It had to do more with my lack of communication than it did with your state of undress.” Louis suddenly becomes very aware of the fact that he’s at work and can’t just stand around looking at pretty football players all day. “I should probably—”

“Work, right, yeah,” Harry chuckles. He runs a hand through his hair, the long curls flowing between his fingers like a knife through soft butter. “I’ll see you in a second, I guess.”

Louis nods and watches as the quarterback makes his way to the table. It takes him a moment to collect himself and, once he does, he grabs the pot of coffee from the machine on the counter and follows Harry towards the table.

“Hello, sweet _thang_ ,” Danny quips as Louis approaches.

“Shut up, thirty-four,” Louis laughs as he sets the pot down in the middle of the table. “You guys know what you want or do you actually need menus?”

They all starts placing orders all at once, most of the orders not even being offered on the menu, Louis’ sure. Louis can’t imagine that they have the same manners when their mommas are around. The only ones who act semi-human are Zayn, Harry, and a cute little freshman that Louis thinks is named Kiser; a wide receiver.

They don’t stay for too long, all of them devouring their plates within ten minutes and finishing off two pots of coffee one after the other. After only half an hour since they arrived, they’re paying the bill (all paying on one check in cash, thank god) and rising on their feet to go. Harry, thankfully, had kept his distance while Louis worked. Louis isn’t sure what he expected; it’s not as if Harry would drop everything and interrupt the entire diner to try to make conversation with Louis.

Louis’ over by one of his tables, loading empty plates and glasses onto a tray, when the players are leaving. “See you, Tommo,” Niall says as they pass, patting Louis on the shoulder.

“See you,” he replies with a smile, watching as they make their way out of the diner.

Harry, however, is dawdling by the table, taking his slow, sweet time making sure he has all his things, patting his pockets and checking the seats. Louis raises a brow and carries his tray over. “Loose something, QB?”

The football player looks up, startled, and laughs when he sees it’s only Louis. “No, no, just making sure I have everything. I’ve already lost my license twice in three months, so my mom wouldn’t be too happy with me if that number turned to three.”

Louis chuckles and nods. “Good thing you’re you; not too hard to return it once you see who it belongs to.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

When Harry doesn’t go to say anything else, standing the same way he had when he had first walked in, Louis nods his head towards the kitchen. “Alright, well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As he’s turning to walk away, he can practically feel the floor shake as Harry takes a step forward. “Wait, Louis, I wanted to ask you something.”

Louis turns back around, heart beating hard against his chest. “Yeah?”

“I know you’re grounded and all, but a few of the guys and I are goin’ out to the lake later, if you think you might be able to come. We’re gonna be swimming, hanging out. I think Niall’s gonna bring some coals; grill up a few burgers.” He clears his throat. “You don’t have to, obviously. It’s only gonna be like, a few of us. Nothing big.”

“What time?” Louis asks. “I get out at four.”

Harry nods with a grin. “That works, we can leave whenever. Is 4:30 okay?”

“Yeah, 4:30’s fine.” Louis smiles and remembers, much like before, that he still has a good four hours left of his shift.

“I can pick you up, if you want?”

Louis swallows. The smart son of Jay Tomlinson tells him _no, drive yourself—you’re already grounded._ However, the teenage boy with big heart-eyes and butterflies in his stomach tells him _yes, yes, yes, and kiss me against the hood of your truck while you’re at it_.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Louis says instead. “I have my mom’s truck, but—”

“No, I’ll pick you up,” Harry insists. He starts walking backwards towards the door. “Dress appropriately. It’s not fall yet, Tomlinson.”

“If you say so, five-seven.”

-

Louis gets off work at four on the dot and gets home at 4:15, giving him just enough time to get ready before Harry arrives to pick him up.

Jay’s in the living room when Louis gets home, dressed in jeans and a Lions football t-shirt that’s a size too big, the sleeves collecting just above her elbows. Louis can smell something cooking in the kitchen, probably his mom’s potato-mac and cheese with the breadcrumbs.

“Hey, honey,” Jay greets from the couch, paperwork scattered around her lap and the coffee table. “How was work, hm?”

“It was good, pretty busy.” He sets his bag down on one of the chairs behind the couch. “Um, so I’m not gonna be around for dinner, I don’t think.”

Jay twists her body to look at Louis where he’s standing behind her. “And why not? It’s a Sunday, Louis. And please remember that you _are_ kind of grounded.”

“I know that, but some of the guys are going down to the lake and invited me, and I felt bad saying no.”

“Define ‘guys’,” Jay says, turning back to the work in front of her. “Would a certain quarterback fit that definition?”

Louis rolls his eyes, thankful his mom doesn’t see. “He’s _one_ of the guys; he’s not the only one that’ll be there. But, yeah, he invited me.”

Jay hums and, despite the simplicity of the sound, it’s filled with hundreds of words she thankfully doesn’t verbalize. After that, she goes silent. Louis thinks he’s in the clear, turning on his heel to head down the hall to his room, when Jay clears her throat.

“I don’t want you out late. Home by nine, Louis, and that’s at the _latest_.” She turns and gives him a pointed look. “And I want everyone clothed when I see them.” She sighs and shakes her head, turning back to her paperwork. “God, I can’t believe I’m letting my grounded son go out with the boy who got him grounded in the first place.”

“Noted,” Louis says before heading down the hall to his room and closing the door behind him.

-

Harry keeps to his promise and pulls up in front of Louis’ house at 4:30pm on the dot.

“He better come to the door,” Jay mumbles, more to herself than to Louis. “I know his mama; she raised him better than that.” She lets the curtain fall as she walks back to the kitchen. “Remember what good manners Santiago had? He always came to the door. He was a good boy, always used his manners.”

“Of course I remember, mom, but can we not bring up ex boyfriends to potential—?”

“Potential what?” Jay asks at the exact time Harry chooses to knock at the door, sending Abbey Mae into hysteria. “Is Harry not _just_ Harry, Louis?”

“Mom, can we not do this now?” Louis whispers hurriedly, hand wrapped around the door handle. “And can someone grab her? I’d rather not be sued by the town because the star quarterback cracked his head open on our porch after being attacked by my dog.”

“Oh, hush, she’ll be fine.” Jay reaches down and rubs Abbey’s neck, scratching under her chin. “She’s a good girl, she’ll behave. Aren’t, huh? Aren’t you a good girl?” Jay asks the dog in the baby voice she specifically reserves just for Abbey Mae.

Once it appears Abbey has reached some level of peace and calmness, Louis takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Harry’s dressed in jeans and a Lions t-shirt, hair tied in a bun at the back of his head and hands in his pockets. His hair is wet, loose strands curling at the back of his neck and by his ears, and he smells likes a mix of cologne and floral laundry detergent. Louis suddenly feels faint. “Hey.” He hopes his swooning isn’t as obvious as it feels.

“Hi.” Harry’s large hands are half stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans, fingers outlined against the denim stretched tightly across his thighs. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I just—”

“Louis, invite the poor boy in! What’re you thinking, just letting him melt to death on the porch?” Jay shouts from the kitchen.

“I was getting there, mom,” Louis replies. He steps to the side, allowing the football player to step inside.

Harry’s not inside for more than five seconds before Abbey Mae has her black nose pressed against his balls and her claws digging into the toes of his boots. Thankfully, Harry doesn’t crack his head open. He does however develop slobber stains all over the front of his jeans and on the hem of his t-shirt.

“Abbey, Abbey no!” Louis groans, pulling on the dog’s collar to try to yank her off the quarterback.

“It’s okay,” Harry laughs. He reaches down and reciprocates Abbey’s greeting in a more appropriate manner. “She’s just sayin’ hi. Right, pretty girl?” Harry asks, his typically deep, gravelly voice going high. “Yeah, you’re a pretty girl.”

Watching Harry greet his dog makes Louis’ chest hurt in a way that he can’t find himself to describe. Maybe heartburn? Or the sensation one feels before they orgasm? A mix of the two, perhaps?

“How are you, honey?” Jay asks from where she’s pouring some iced tea into a glass.

“I’m good, ma’am, thank you.” He stands up with a pat to Abbey Mae’s rear. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in a minute.”

“Oh, just gettin’ into the swing of things,” she replies with a chuckle. “What with school starting and all.” She walks over and hands Harry the glass. “And _football_. You made quite the touchdown pass the other night, honey. That’s a good way to start the season. I’m sure your mama’s awfully proud of you.”

“She is, ma’am,” Harry replies politely, taking the glass with a nod. “Thank you.”

“Now, that’s homemade,” Jay says, bumping her hip against Louis’ as she passes him. “No box mix or that darn _Splenda_. And, goodness gracious, I’ve known you since you were just a little thing; call me Ms. T. I don’t want to be called ‘ma’am’ until I’m old and live on my recliner.”

Harry takes a sip and hums. “Will do, Ms. T. And uh, I want to apologize about yesterday. I realize how it may have looked and I want you to know that nothing—”

“While I appreciate it, you don’t need to apologize,” Jay interrupts. “I should be thanking you for making sure he got home safe and _fully clothed_ —”

“Well, we’re gonna get going,” Louis says quickly. He knows his mother better than he knows anyone. Back when he first brought Santiago and JD around, she played the same game to the same tune—the tune being a honey-soaked accent and too much homemade iced tea. She’ll make up these little tests, testing their manners; their ‘intentions’. Louis knows it’s all in good nature on her part, he knows she’s only making sure he avoids guys who’ll promise him everything and leave him with nothing, much like some of the guys that _she_ has found herself in the company of.

She’s also very nosy and tends to forget to turn her filter on before speaking.

“Right, Louis said you guys are going to the lake?” Jay asks. “With you and some guys.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, we’re just heading down to Williams, gonna cook up some burgers and stuff.” He clears his throat. If Louis didn’t know better, he would say it was a nervous clear of the throat. “I can give you a list of the people coming, if you’d—”

“No, no, don’t worry about it, I have an idea about who’ll be there,” Jay argues with a smile and a shake of her head. “Louis knows when he has to be home. Just be smart, please.”

“I always try to be, ma—Ms. T.”

-

Jay ends up making them stay until Harry’s finished his iced tea and Louis’ agreed to bring Abbey Mae with them to the lake so that Jay can properly clean without the hound on her heels. 

The sky has turned a gentle purple by the time they get on the road, with small streaks of orange and what little remains of the blue afternoon. The August air is still present, despite it being September, warming Louis’ skin like hot water. Harry’s phone is plugged in, Trampled by Turtles playing through the speakers at medium volume. Abbey’s in between them, her breath hot and wet against their cheeks. Harry doesn’t seem to mind, though.

The truck is very _Harry_ , Louis notices. A lot of the receipts and trash that had been littered on the floor the previous morning are gone. There’s a vanilla air freshener hanging from his rearview window, though the smell is lost to the wind clogging Louis’ nostrils from the open windows. He’s got football and gym gear in the space in the back behind their seats—Louis can spot two twenty-five pound weights hidden beneath one of his mesh jerseys and an extra pair of scruffy cleats. There’s a Chemistry textbook under Louis’ seat and a collection of empty cans of red bull. Very Harry. Louis voices this as he nudges a copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ that’s half covered in blue construction paper with the tip of his shoe.

Harry frowns. “Is that a good or bad thing?” The quarterback turns, his neck twisted a full ninety to look at Louis.

“Look at the road,” Louis laughs, reaching around his dog and shoving at Harry’s hard shoulder.

“Good or bad thing?” Harry persists, clearly amused, his head unmoving.

Louis resorts to trying to manhandle Harry’s face into the correct position, his thumb pressing into his cheek and fingers against his lips and chin. Finally, after nearly hitting a stray cat, Harry turns his head. But, not before licking at Louis’ palm.

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me, five-seven,” Louis sighs. “It’s not in a good _or_ bad way, for your information.” He leans down and picks up one of the many cans of red bull. “I’m surprised you haven’t suffered from a heart attack yet. Or been diagnosed with diabetes. Or whatever it is that this shit does to your body.”

Harry snorts. “There’s only like, five cans.”

Louis leans down, being sure to count each one. “There’re seven. You don’t drink one a day, do you?”

“Hell no,” Harry states. He takes a sharp left, causing the two of them and Abbey to slide in their seats as the pavement turns to red dirt. “Only if we had a late night and early morning practice back to back. Coffee doesn’t hit me as hard as the bull.”

The drive through the woods isn’t long, maybe five minutes max. Two trucks and a car are already parked by the trees, one of them still running with the radio turned on loud enough to be heard over the obnoxious laughter by the edge of the water. Louis can see Niall and Jayden already in the water, dressed down to their boxer shorts, while Ritchie and Zayn are just getting out of Ritchie’s truck. They both have packs of beer in one hand and a grocery bag in the other. The second they park and open their doors, Abbey’s running towards the water, her long legs moving quickly beneath her.

“Really?” Louis chuckles as they all meet together on the dark, damp sand by the water’s edge. “Drinking on a Sunday afternoon?”

Ritchie laughs and raises his pack up towards the sky, biceps straining under the weight. “What God doesn’t know won’t hurt ‘im.”

“God knows all,” Harry replies as he starts kicking off his boots. “You guys bring the meat?”

“Oh, I brought the meat all right,” Jayden says, cupping his groin and thrusting into his hand.

“You’re disgusting,” Niall laughs manically. He then proceeds to push the DT into the water. Jayden falls with a splash, the water covering his face and chest. Abbey stops what she’s doing to come investigate, her own nose under the water. When he resurfaces, the smile still hasn’t left his face and his arm is around the dog’s shoulders, giving her a wet, proper greeting.

“Fuck you, Horan!”

Zayn and Ritchie set the beers down at the edge of the water, Zayn being quick to rip through the cardboard to get to a can. “Enough profanity, please.” He cracks the can open, bringing the metal to his mouth to take a generous gulp.

Before Louis can even react, Harry is grabbing two beers from the pack and handing one to Louis. “You want one?”

Louis nods, taking the beer and cracking it open. “Do you guys have practice in the morning?”

The four football players all groan, Jayden falling back into the water.

“At five o’clock sharp,” Ritchie states, mimicking Nelson’s accent, his voice going deep and slow.

“The first of many,” Zayn adds. He finishes off his beer, a little dripping off his chin, and then throws the empty can across the grass. They all watch it land in the bed of Niall’s truck with a clatter amongst what Louis’ assumes to be more empty beer cans.

Once they’ve all had at least two beers, Niall pulls out the portable grill from the bed of his truck and starts grilling up some burgers and sausages. Zayn and Louis pull out some beach chairs from the trunk of his car, setting them up facing the water.

“Hey.” Zayn nudges Louis’ elbow with his own, Louis’ skin rubbing against the wood of the armrest. “Have you heard the news? About Septelka?”

Louis shakes his head and takes another sip of his beer. “No, what’s up?”

Jayden turns his neck to look over the back of his chair. “Forty-nine! Why not grace us with your good news?”

Ritchie flips the DT off as Niall loads his plate up with three burgers. “I got accepted into LSU.”

Louis gasps and raises his beer in a silent toast. “Shit, Rich! When did you hear?”

“Yesterday,” the wide receiver says as he sits in the empty chair beside Jayden. “One of their scouts had been at the game on Friday and had been watching me most of season. They called me this morning.”

“And we’re all really fucking jealous,” Niall shouts, no malice in his voice.

“First Greg going to Alabama, now Seppy heading to Louisiana—I’m jealous as hell,” Jayden states. “I haven’t heard from anyone. I’m probably gonna end up playing fucking tennis at Texas Tech.” He turns to Harry who’s settling in the chair on Louis’ other side. “What about you, QB? Hear back from anyone?”

Harry shakes his head. “Coach said Virginia Tech’s been around. I got a call from San Jose the other day, too.”

“But, alas, the gators have yet to declare their love,” Niall says dramatically as he walks over with a plate loaded with grilled food, all of it for himself.

“Shut the fuck up,” Harry says with a grin, his drawl nice and slow.

“We’ve only had one game,” Ritchie laughs. “The only reason me and Greg got in anywhere is because we—”

“Because you guys have skills unlike any high school football player and can’t be compared to anyone, especially us _little_ people,” Jayden jokes, managing to miss the slap of four-nine’s hand to the back of his chair, meant for the back of his head.

“You’ll hear from them,” Louis reassures, ignoring the small battle breaking out between Ritchie and Jayden.

Harry smiles and nudges the back of his hand against Louis’. “I hope so.” He takes a sip of his beer and watches as Abbey starts sniffing at Jayden’s sausage that’s already halfway in his mouth. “You havin’ fun?”

Louis nods. “Yeah, I am.” He sets his empty beer can on the ground beside his empty plate. “It’s better than being cooped up at home watching reruns of _Murder She Wrote_ with my mom and sisters.”

“Hey, I like that show,” Harry retorts, pointing his beer in Louis’ direction. “And that’s all she wrote.”

They spend another few hours out at Williams, cooking up burgers and taking dips in the water. Ritchie takes quite the liking to Abbey Mae, going in the water with her and playing fetch with a nice, sturdy stick he found under Niall’s truck. They gossip about the team for a while—apparently the second-string safety, a sophomore named Andres, is _killing it_ and giving Chris, the first-string safety, a run for his money. Then, they somehow get onto the subject of how Noah Shimwell, one of the outside linebackers, is _still_ denying his yearlong crush on Eleanor. It’s a good night, to say the least.

By eight, Louis starts getting antsy. Not because he has less than an hour before he has to get home. In fact, that barely crosses his mind. He starts getting antsy because Harry is skinny dipping in the lake. His clothes are folded into a ball on his chair and Harry is naked. Harry is naked and only a few yards away from Louis, who is still fully clothed.

When Harry first started stripping, Louis felt hot. When Harry yanked his boxers from his waist to his ankles, revealing his small, pale ass, Louis nearly fainted. He couldn’t stop starring—he’s surprised no one noticed and, if someone _did_ notice, no one said anything, which is also surprising.

This whole attraction to Harry has Louis’ toes curling into the dirt and stomach doing flips worthy of the US gymnastics team. He’s known Harry since the football player moved from Dallas to Wyatt in the fifth grade. Then, he had been a short, soft kid with big cheeks and baggy jeans that carried his football everywhere and followed the varsity players so much that they started calling him a lost puppy. Then, in their sophomore year, Harry had his growth spurt and discovered exercising and clothes that fit him. He went from a cherubic kid to a toned, muscular athlete, though he was still the definition of sweet. However, it took Louis a while to really develop this crush, or whatever you want to call it, on Harry. It took until the end of their junior year—just a few months ago, to be exact, when he found himself in a closet with Harry during a drunken game of Spin the Bottle.

Louis hates to use the word crush, though. It sounds so immature, so juvenile, like they’re little kids pulling on each other’s’ pigtails and complaining about having cooties.

By the time they leave, Louis’ one hundred percent positive that he’s going to be late, if he isn’t _already_ late, and Harry is only wearing his jeans, the water from his skin seeping into the denim.

“Alright, guys. Louis and I have to call it a night,” the quarterback shouts. “You guys should too, if you know what’s good for you.”

Zayn grins, looking between the two as they start folding up their chairs. “You guys got somewhere to be?”

Louis groans. He knew it was only a matter of time before the others started suggesting things that shouldn’t be suggested. Especially Zayn, the bastard, who was one of the few people outside of the Tomlinson clan that knew of the feelings Louis holds for Harry

“I’m grounded,” Louis states before Harry can even open his mouth. “If I’m not home by nine, you might not see me anywhere other than in the obituary.”

The boys chuckle and let the subject drop as they all start picking up their shit. As Louis leans down to fold up his chair, Harry’s nudging Louis’ hands away and doing it himself. “I’ve got it.”

Louis frowns. “I can get it, QB.”

Harry shrugs, hoisting both his and Louis’ chairs up under his arms. His shirt that’s thrown over his shoulder shifts down his chest a little as his muscles move under his skin. “So can I.”

Louis chooses not to argue, instead watching as Harry carries both chairs to Zayn’s car. He tries not to stare too hard when he sees the way Harry’s muscles move under the tan skin of his back. His nice, broad back that’s still dotted with lake water.

“I’ll see you in the morning, five-seven,” Ritchie says with a grin as he climbs into his truck.

“Don’t be late, Seppy!” Harry shouts, not bothering to turn around as he walks Louis back to his own truck, Abbey hot on their heels. “LSU ain’t looking for slackers!”

Louis helps Harry lay out a few of his gym shirts and practice jerseys on the seat before Harry sits, some of them a bit ripe, like they haven’t seen the inside of a washing machine since the day they left the printing press. Louis says as much.

“I kind of forget they’re back there,” Harry explains. He starts his truck, letting the engine rev for an extra moment before putting the car into drive. “You promise you had a good time?”

“I pinky promise.”

Harry holds out the hand not holding the wheel, pinky out. “You’ve got to act on it, Tomlinson.”

Louis laughs and wraps his pinky around Harry’s.

“Do you guys do that a lot?” Louis asks. “Hang out down here?”

“Eh, sometimes.” Harry follows close behind Niall, kind of riding his ass as they make their way through the woods. “I know it’s not as nice as dinner and a movie, but I figured I owed you something after getting you grounded.”

Louis reaches around Abbey and slaps Harry’s forearm. “You’re _not_ the reason I got grounded.” He stares at the side of Harry’s face with a raised brow. “Dinner and a movie? Sounds awfully romantic to me.”

“I’m the romantic type,” Harry chuckles, taking a right on the main road towards town. Louis doesn’t say anything, but he’s pretty sure Harry lives to the left, on the opposite side of town, putting Louis completely out of the way. Like, an additional twenty minutes for Harry to drive Louis all the way through town and back.

 “You can drop me off at the school, if you want,” Louis offers. “It’s not a far walk from my house. I really don’t mind having to walk. God knows Abbey can muster up enough energy.”

“I really don’t mind the drive,” Harry chuckles. “I wouldn’t have offered you the ride if I didn’t plan on driving you all the way home afterwards.”

They pull up to Louis’ house ten past nine. Jay’s nowhere to be seen, as Louis half-expected to see her perched on the porch steps waiting, but the lights are still on behind the drawn curtains, as is the light by the front door and the garage, meaning she isn’t too far away, probably sitting on the couch, waiting to see headlights. And, despite how much it crushes his inner Julia Stiles, Louis thinks that, if Harry were to walk him to the door, no matter how much he wants him to, the both of them would be in for an earful of embarrassing, overbearing mom-talk. Harry seems to think the same thing and voices as much.

“I should probably stay in the car, right?”

Louis sighs. “I think that’d be best, yeah.”

“You sure she won’t be made that you’re late?”

It’s cute how concerned Harry is about Louis being in trouble. Louis can feel a blooming in his chest, just as he had when Santiago had driven Louis home late one night and had refused to leave until Louis let him apologize to Jay on Louis’ behalf.

“She’s more lenient with punishment than she looks,” Louis laughs. “The longest she’s grounded me for has been four days. She starts feeling bad after a while.”

“Lucky. My mom took my keys for a _month_ my sophomore year because I used the gas money she gave me for something dumb like movies or food. I can’t even remember what I bought, that’s how dumb it was.”

“Wow,” Louis breathes out. “Don’t let the papers hear that; they’ll soil your perfect, squeaky-clean reputation.”

It’s sad how true Louis’ words are. He can remember, back in his freshman year, when one of the first string left guard’s ex-girlfriend was seen buying a pregnancy test at a drug store one town over. The only thing the town talked about was how Mackenzie Cook had gotten a girl pregnant. Rumors swirled about him getting cut from first string and, if not from first string, then from the team all together.

Thankfully, none of the rumors were true and Mackenzie went on to finish out his senior year with success and no pregnant ex-girlfriend. But, the following weeks were torture for him, Louis remembers. People whispering behind his back, schools hesitant to accept or recruit him. And, God, Louis doesn’t even want to imagine what it must have been like for the ex-girlfriend.

“Hey, you’re coming to practice in the morning, right?” Harry asks as Louis hops out of the truck.

Louis rests his elbows against the open passengers’ side window. “Unfortunately.” He had gotten the text in the rally girl group chat early that morning announcing all rally girls—and Louis—were to meant to be at the school at 6:30am on the dot to do measurements for their new uniforms. Louis didn’t even understand why rally girls _had_ uniforms, but he wasn’t about to bring that up with Kennedy or the other girls.

“It’s not that bad,” Harry offers halfheartedly. Halfheartedly because, well, he knew it was bad. “Kennedy’s bringing me her lemon poppy seed muffins; you can have some.”

“Shit, I didn’t make Zayn anything,” Louis realizes out loud. “Was I supposed to?”

Harry shakes his head. “It’s not like, required or anything.” He smirks. “I mean, it’s kind of your job though, as a rally boy.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Well, Zayn didn’t ask for shit, so he isn’t getting shit.”

“Seems appropriate,” Harry agrees with a humored nod.

At that moment, Louis’ mom decides to flick the porch light off, then on again. He shakes his head, partially in frustration and partially with fondness. “I guess that’s my que.” He grins. “Thanks for tonight, QB. I had fun.”

“Good. You’ll have to come with me more often. It’s nice to have someone sane to balance out us idiots.”

Louis nods, noting how Harry phrases it ‘with _me_ ’ versus ‘with _us_ ’ He’s overthinking it, he knows, but it still makes him smile. “You know how to find me,” he states, jutting his head back towards his house. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Bright and early,” Harry confirms.

Just as Louis’ about to turn his back to the truck, he remembers the sweatshirt of Harry’s, folded and stuffed away in his closet for safe keeping until it’s ready to be returned. “Hey, I still have your sweatshirt. From the bonfire.”

Harry shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. Keep it. I’ve got plenty.”

Louis’ first instinct is to argue, to force Harry wait outside while Louis retrieves it for him. But, something stops him. He lets his instinct fall to the ground as he simply nods and waves, not bothering to argue.

They exchange goodbyes with smiles and promises of seeing each other in the morning, leaving Louis watching Harry’s truck pull away from the side of the road and drive off into the distance. It’s gotten colder since the sun went down and Harry left, but Louis can’t bring himself to move from that spot, not for another few minutes. Not until it’s actually sunken in that he spent the past few hours with _the_ Harry Styles. Though, after spending so much time with the boy and really getting to know him, Louis almost feels uncomfortable when referring to Harry as _the_ Harry.

As expected, Jay is less than thrilled to see Louis and Abbey walk through the door nearly half an hour past his set curfew. She’s sitting on the couch facing the TV, back turned towards the front door. M*A*S*H is playing in front of her, but Louis knows better than to think that her attention is anywhere but him and his tardiness.

“Did you have a good time?” she asks sweetly, not bothering to turn her head.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Louis states, cutting straight to the chase.

Jay turns her head, only slightly, with her brow raised and lips pursed. “Half an hour, Louis William Tomlinson. Please, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe I said for you to be home by _nine_. _Latest._ And, again, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the clock reads nine thirty.”

Louis swallows. “I—you’re not wrong. I’m sorry. I should’ve paid better attention to the time.”

“You realize that this is the second time you’ve run into trouble in one week, yes?” Jay asks. “And, I’m not blaming Harry, but—”

“It’s not Harry’s fault,” Louis intersects. “It’s completely my fault, mom, seriously. Harry was the one telling me that he should take me home and the one worrying about me coming home late.”

Jay raises a brow skeptically, but doesn’t push it, for which Louis is thankful. “If this happens again, I’m not going to be so lenient. You hear me? You can’t be setting a bad example for the girls. Especially Charlotte.”

Louis nods. “Yeah, I hear you, mama. I’m sorry.”

Instead of really laying it into him, bringing up things like unsafe sex and drinking and driving like she usually does, Jay just says and waves Louis off. “It’s late; we’ll talk when I get home from work. No going out tomorrow, got it?”

“Got it,” Louis sighs before turning his back to his mother and shuffling his feet down the hall towards his door, wanting to be as far from his mother as possible before she changed her mind and decided to rip into him right then and there. It’s been known to happen once or twice.

-

Unlike the first early-morning meeting where they met in the front atrium of the school, Louis finds himself out on the sidelines of the field, watching as the boys assemble, all clad in their practice uniforms.

There’s a slight chill in the air, making Louis wish he had brought a light jack or at least worn a sweatshirt to protect his arms from the subtle wind. All of the others had at least worn a long sleeve shirt. Apparently, Louis didn’t get the memo. Or, he just didn’t check the weather app on his phone before he left the house.

Harry’s starring at him. Louis is kind of starring back. Kind of.

He’s the first one that Louis noticed once they walked out onto the field, dressed in his neon practice cleats and his number bright and gold on the back of his jersey, his name stretched across his shoulder blades.

They’ve all been out for at least an hour and, while Louis’ wishing he had brought a sweatshirt, the team looks as if they could all use ice baths. Jayden, who’s closest to the sidelines squirting a stream of water down his throat, looks about as sweaty as a burger is greasy. His long, black curls were matted against his head in what was once a braid, strands stuck to his forehead and down his neck.

“Okay, enough ogling,” Kennedy announces with a clear of her throat. “Y’all need to pair up and take each other’s measurements! And please, girls—and Louis—remember to _write the measurements down_? It took us way too long to do this last year because y’all didn’t write it down.” She holds up a Lions drawstring. “One measuring tape per pair!”

Louis ends up being paired with Uriyah, a short, curvy girl with the brightest smile that Louis’ ever seen. She’s nice—sympathetic of Louis being the only boy in a huge sea of estrogen, as she called it, but Louis isn’t really all that bothered by the unbalance between boys and girls. He’s more annoyed about having to wake up an hour earlier than he is about actually being a rally boy. It’s better than being a water boy, he thinks.

It’s a silly thought, Louis knows, but he can’t help but wish, as Uriyah’s wrapping the measuring tape around his sternum, that Harry might stop what he’s doing and as much as spare a glance in Louis’ direction.

After spending a drunken sleep and an afternoon with the football star, Louis is already craving his attention. So much as a look. Is that really too much to ask?

They’re done taking measurements just before 7:15. Some of the girls, despite Kennedy’s warnings, had forgotten to record their measurements and either redid them or gave their best guesses and estimates.

As the girls begin congregating on the bleachers, Louis takes note of the various plates and baskets filled with cookies, muffins, cupcakes, and even two-tiers cakes in each of the girls’ laps. On the way to school, despite not having been asked, Louis decided to pick up a chicken biscuit for Zayn from Whataburger. Thankfully, it’s just Zayn; had it been someone else Louis had to ‘rally’ for, he might feel a little more nervous or self-conscious.

Practice finishes at 7:30, giving Louis and the rally girls time to sit and watch the remainder of practice. Xavier Fuentes, the left tackle, sits on the bench beside some of the sophomores and the water boys. During their game against East Lake, he had managed to somehow twist his ankle badly enough that Dr. Donatello, the angel that she is, had placed him on medical leave for their next game. So, filling in for Xavier is Iain Moniz, a 6’5” sophomore that stopped being carded at Carmine’s when he was only fourteen.

For the past hour, Nelson and Dixon have been trying to coach Moniz in successfully blocking Harry in the quarterback’s blind spot. But, time and time again, Harry just keeps getting slammed over and over by 54. He’s hit the ground so many times that Louis’ sure the QB’s going to have some major bruising going on.

“Moniz, when’re you going to get your head out of your ass and start playing?” Nelson practically screams after Harry hits the ground for the umpteenth time. “We’ve got a damn game on Friday, fifty-one! Do I got to put Simpson or Starkowski in instead? Alex can’t be carrying your position all on his own, son!”

Xavier shakes his head quickly. “No, Coach, I’m gonna get it.”

Nelson shakes his head. “You damn well better. I don’t have time for bullshit.” After a quick scan of the forty or so players on the field, Nelson nods his head back towards the bleachers. “Y’all go shower and get to class on time, you here? I’ll see everyone one of y’all at conditioning at 1 on the dot!”

“Wow, rally boy,” Zayn praises as he’s bestowed with his Whataburger takeout bag. “You’ve pulled through.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Well, it came to my attention last night that I’m apparently supposed to start bringing you baked goods.”

Zayn raises a brow as he pulls the breakfast sandwich from the bag. Louis can spot the honey butter dripping onto the outside of the wax paper. His stomach rumbles at the sight. “Who told you that?”

“Not you,” Louis replies, watching as Zayn licks the gravy from his fingers before taking a bite from the biscuit. “Harry said that Kennedy was bringing something for him and I realized that you and I had never talked about what kind of food you want me to bring you.”

A knowing smirk grows on the wide receivers face. “Harry?” he asks, the food pushed into his cheek, the skin bulging.

Louis’ eyes narrow. “What.”

“What, what?”

“Why did you say it like that?”

“What, Harry’s name?” Zayn asks, to which Louis nods. The football player shrugs and begins making his way towards the entrance to the locker room by the edge of bleachers. “You two hung out last night.”

Louis frowns. “Yeah, we did. You, Niall, Ritchie, and Jayden were there too, remember? Unless you have too much brain damage from this fucking sport and you’re starting to lose your memory.” He has to pick up his pace a bit as he follows the football player down the bleachers. Screw athletes. “We’re friends. Harry and I. That’s it.”

Zayn nods. “I know that.” The smirk remains on his face as he takes another greedy bite of the biscuit. “I just find it funny how—”

“Don’t even start—”

“—you’ve liked him for a while, and now he’s asking about you—”

“He’s asking about me?” Louis asks with a start. “When? What does he ask?”

Zayn rolls his eyes, as if he’s proven his point, which he definitely hasn’t. “During practice, at lunch, in class— _whenever._ ”

“What does he ask?”

“Nothing that you’re probably hoping for,” Zayn chuckles as they approach the entryway into the locker room. He turns his back to the door with his shoulder resting against the cool, white brick. Louis mirrors him, his arms crossed and the muscles in his back tense.

 _Harry asked about him_.

“I’m not hoping for _anything_ ,” Louis argues, becoming impatient. “What did he ask about me?”

“He asked why you don’t hang out with us more often like you did yesterday, he wanted to know if you still talk to Santiago—”

“Wait,” Louis interrupts. “Why did he ask if I still talk to Santiago?”

Zayn shrugs. “I don’t know, I didn’t ask. I just said that y’all are like, friendly and shit, but don’t talk a lot.”

Louis nods. “Right, we don’t talk that much. Me and Santiago,” Louis reinforces. “Why would Harry ask that?”

Again, Zayn shrugs. “Ask him yourself?”

“I can’t do that!” Louis exclaims. “Then Harry would know that you told me that he was asking you about me. If he knew that you betrayed his trust, he would never confide in you again.”

“Why do you care if Harry talks about you if you’re just friends?” Zayn asks smugly. “Right? _Just friends_?”

“You’re insufferable,” Louis groans. “We _are_ just friends.”

The wide receiver just grins before shoving the rest of the biscuit into his mouth with a wink. “Should I tell Harry that? That you two are just friends?”

“I don’t know why you’d have to do that since he _knows_ that we’re friends,” Louis states. “Go shower. You stink and your presence is messing with my vibe.”

Zayn chuckles and blows Louis a kiss. “Peace, rally boy.”

Louis flips him off just before he slips into the locker room. He can hear the football player cackling as the door shuts behind him.

-

The cafeteria is packed when Louis enters. It takes him a moment to find his usual spot amongst the sea of high schoolers, the table sat in the far end of the room, squished between the sandwich station and the vending machines. He manages to make his way to the back of the cafeteria, greeting a few friends, including some of his fellow rally girls, along the way. Noah—Shim, as they call him—spots Louis before any of the others do, the outside linebacker moving his chair to the side, closer to Eleanor, to allow Louis slide in beside him.

“Hey, guys,” Louis greets.

Eleanor smiles, her chin resting in her palm. “How was practice this morning?”

Cutting straight to the chase, then.

Shim cracks a grin. “Oh yeah, I saw you out there, Lou. I can’t believe Nelson actually made you agree to being a rally boy.”

“Eh, it’s nothing I can’t handle,” Louis says lightly as he pulls his brown lunch bag from his backpack. He pulls out his granola bar first, needing something to sweet to wake him up after two hours of English and Pre Calc. “If I didn’t have Zayn as my player, I might not be such a good sport about it.”

“I heard that almost every rally girl ends up fucking their player by the end of the season,” Stan points out with a mouth full of barbeque chicken pizza.

Dani rolls her eyes. “Where have you heard that?”

Stan shrugs. “It’s just, like, _known_.” He turns to Shim. “Am I right?”

All eyes turn to Shim, who appears to shrink down into his seat. His mouth twitches, like he can’t quite come up with an answer that won’t put him at risk of receiving Eleanor’s fist landing against his stomach. “I mean…it _happens_.”

“I heard that, last year, Caleb Castillo made him, his rally girl, and his rally girl’s _sister_ have a threesome,” Stan states.

“Castillo was an asshole,” Shim and Eleanor state simultaneously, as if that fact alone proves everything under the stars.

“I strongly doubt that’s true,” Louis offers between bites of his granola bar. He turns to Shim. “Help me out here, twenty-two.”

Shim shakes his head. “Castillo definitely didn’t have a threesome with his rally girl and his rally girl’s sister.” He pauses. “He _did_ do anal with her, though. _Consensual_ anal.”

Eleanor and Dani gasp while Louis and Stan’s eyes widen comically.

“Wait, who was his rally girl?” Dani asks.

“Um, I think it was Mya Whiten.” Shim thinks for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, Mya Whiten.”

“How did I not know that?” Stan exclaims, attracting the attention from the surrounding tables.

Shim shrugs. “I only know because Mya told Jayden’s rally girl, who told Isaiah.”

“And Isaiah has the biggest mouth on the team,” Stan finishes. “Damn, why am I not a football player?”

“Why, not getting enough anal?” Louis teases with an elbow to his friend’s side.

“Damn, Stan, I didn’t peg you as an ass man,” Eleanor jokes. “Pun intended.”

Shim laughs, louder than necessary. On anyone else, it would appear to be obnoxious. But, it’s Shim, who’s been labelled as _Heart of Gold_ in the yearbook every year since fifth grade. On him, it’s nothing short of charming.

“Fuck off,” Stan groans, flicking a crumb from his pizza crust in Eleanor’s direction.

It isn’t until the end of their lunch period that Shim lets it slip that tonight is what the team calls ‘The Baptism’. There’s nothing holy about it, but it’s been called The Baptism since before Louis can remember. He reckons it’s been a Lions tradition since his grandad was a Lion.

Every year, at the beginning of the season, the upperclassmen put the underclassmen through a series of initiations. Louis has always considered the tradition to be extremely juvenile and unnecessary, but where does his opinion count in the matter? Nowhere, that’s where.

No one knows what exactly is done during The Baptism. No one except for the football team, of course. Louis assumes, since the tradition has yet to be shut down, that nothing too damaging takes place. At least, he _hopes_ nothing too damaging takes place.

Shim slips when Eleanor asks the boys if they want to go with her and Dani to the movies to see the new Zac Efron rom-com. It’s a simple slip of the tongue—

“Can’t, we’ve got the Bap—”

He doesn’t even have the chance to finish his sentence before he stops, eyes wide, and Stan is practically leaping out of his chair to tackle the linebacker.

“The Baptism is tonight?” Stan asks and, thankfully, his voice is hushed enough that he doesn’t draw or attract attention from any of the other tables.

Shim gulps and looks around them to make sure no one is listening. “You can’t tell _anyone_. I shouldn’t have even said anything.”

“We ain’t dumb, we won’t tell a soul,” Stan reassures hurriedly. “But, you slipped, Shimwell, so now you have to tell us everything.”

Dani raises a brow. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“You’re from fucking _Austin_ , like hell you know how shit works in the real world,” Stan spits out before turning all of his attention back to Shim.

“I definitely can’t tell you everything,” he states. “If the team found out that I had even _mentioned_ it to y’all, they would kill me. Like, literally cut my body into tons of tiny pieces and throw me in Williams.”

By the time their lunch period is over, Stan has managed to wrangle the time and location out of Shim with no blood shed from either party, _thank god_.

“The middle school’s football field at midnight,” Shim whispers, looking guilty as hell as every little word leaves his mouth, as if he’s committing treason. Which, in Wyatt, he might as well be.

Louis doesn’t have to be a genius to figure out where he’s going to be dragged come midnight.

-

They get caught no more than ten minutes after they parked Stan’s mom’s Sudan half a mile from the field and found a hiding spot behind the big Oak tree by the playground to the right of the middle school.

Despite it being a Monday night, Stan thought it necessary that him, Louis, and Calvin “get rid of” the last of the thirty pack he had bought for the weekend. By “get rid of”, Stan meant drink. So by the time the three boys had driven to the middle school, shotgunned their way through about ten beers, and found a hiding place, they were well past tipsy and definitely not in the right mindset to start scaling trees.

It had been Louis’ idea to climb the tree, as Stan makes very clear when the team approaches them, as if that fact will protect them or excuse their actions in any way.

The team had been on the far right side of the field by the field house, all crammed together, surrounding the underclassmen. Louis hated to think about what the older boys could possibly be doing to the younger ones. He’s known over three quarters of the football team since preschool, and Louis knows that most of them wouldn’t hurt a fly. So, he figured that they weren’t doing anything _too_ mean to the freshmen and sophomores.

“I bet they’re gonna do the naked mile or somethin’,” Stan had snorted. Louis didn’t find the thought nearly as humorous as the other two boys did.

When it became evident that, while they could see the team from their spot, but they couldn’t see what the team was doing or the underclassmen on the inside of the circle formed around them, the boys knew that they had to improvise.

Louis, being the smaller of the three boys and supposedly the least tipsy, volunteered himself to be the one to scale the tree. It was one of the thicker types of trees, with the branches sprouting about four feet above the ground. With the help of Calvin, Louis managed to heave himself up onto one of the lowest branches. For about the first few minutes, Louis could successfully see within the circle of football players, and would routinely update his two friends on what he was seeing.

Just as Harry, Aiden, Liam, Niall, Greg, and the rest of the seniors were what looked to be tying the hands of the sophomore and freshmens’ hands together, Louis, for some reason, felt the need to try to get a little higher up and to sit a little closer to the end of the branch.

The second he took his hand off of the tree, he lost his balance. Neither Stan or Calvin noticed as Louis lost his footing or when the branch started to creak under his weight. Even when Louis squealed as the branch finally snapped, only Calvin turned and lifted his head with the intent to shush Louis, not wanting to be caught by the team.

Calvin turned just in time to see Louis fall a good five feet from where he had previously been perched. “Shit! Man down!” Cal shouted drunkenly, shoving at Stan’s shoulder before hunching over Louis, who was now lying flat on his back under the tree.

Louis isn’t sure when exactly he comes to, but he knows that he wouldn’t mind falling from trees more often if it meant waking up to a certain quarterback leaning over him every single time.

After ogling the football player in what was most likely an obvious and extremely embarrassing manner, Louis registers that Harry’s lips are moving. His pink, soft, puffy lips. God, he wants to kiss him. He wonders how inappropriate it would be of him to just lean up, wrap his arms around Harry’s neck, and plant one on him.

“Louis, can you hear me?”

Right—Harry’s lips, moving, tree, falling.

With a shaky breath, Louis nods, only for Harry to place his hand on Louis’ forehead gingerly. “Don’t move your head, Lou, you might have hurt it or something.”

At the mention of him being hurt, Stan and Calvin go into hysterics, going on about how Jay would absolutely butcher their asses and ground Louis for the rest of his life. When he hears the mention of “ _She’s_ never _going to let him go out again_ ,” Louis starts to really feel an ache in his head.

“I’m okay,” he croaks, the sound of his voice startling him. “I just um, fell.”

Harry smirks. “Yeah, no shit.”

Zayn, who Louis now sees over Harry’s shoulder, along with the rest of the entire Lions football team, raises a brow knowingly with a smug look plastered on his beautiful face. “What might you have been doing in the tree in the first place, Tommo?”

“How about we interrogate him _after_ we’ve determined whether or not he’s concussed?” Harry asks sternly, turning to give Zayn a look before looking back down at Louis. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

Louis tries to shake his head, only to have the movement halted by Harry’s hand that’s still pressed to his forehead. “No, I don’t think so.” He wiggles his ankles and lifts his legs in the air, bending them at the knee, proving his lack of injury. “I’m fine Styles; just had the wind knocked outta me is all.”

Harry, despite looking entirely too unconvinced, stands up and removes his hand from Louis’ forehead. He offers it to Louis. “Well get up, then.”

As Louis raises his right arm to take Harry’s hand, he feels a white, hot pain shoot from his elbow to his wrist. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying out in pain until Harry is kneeling on one side and Liam, who came out on nowhere, is on his other.

“Shit,” Louis chuckles humorlessly, blinking away any tears that may threaten to feel. “My uh, my arm isn’t too good, I guess.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, you guess.” He shakes his head. “Can you sit up?”

Louis nods and, with his right arm against his chest, uses his left arm, and Harry and Liam’s help, to hoist himself into a sitting position. “I must’ve landed on it wrong.”

“What the hell, Louis,” he can hear Stan groan. “I told you the tree was a bad idea.” He turns to the rest of the guys surrounding them. “It was all his idea, I swear.”

“Shut up, Stan,” Louis and Harry practically shout, simultaneously.

“You should go to the hospital,” Jayden states from where he’s standing over Harry, noticing just how swollen Louis’ elbow is. “Can you move your arm?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, not without it hurting.” He winces as he lowers his hand into his lap, rather than having it pressed to his chest. “My wrist is kinda numb.”

Harry frowns and, if the situation wasn’t what it was, Louis would find it adorable. Might even tell Harry as much. He _is_ drunk enough, he thinks to himself. But, given the situation, Louis chooses to keep that information to himself.

“My mom is on shift until five,” Louis states. “She can’t see me and she can’t know—”

“Louis, how can you hide a broken arm from your mom?” Zayn asks incredulously.

“It’s not broken!” Louis argues, as if he’s trying to convince himself of it. There’s no way his arm is broken. No, he’s going to go to the twenty-four-hour walk-in clinic, be told that it’s just a bad bruise or something, and will be prescribed some heavy meds before he’s back in bed with no signs that he had ever left. “It’s just a bruise. It’s not fucking broken.”

-

It’s broken.

Well, _sprained_ , but, as far as Louis’ concerned, it might as well be broken.

“You’re lucky you don’t need surgery,” Dr. Taylor states as he views the x-rays on the screen in front of them. “If you had fallen on it any differently than you did, you would be in the emergency surgery right now.”

At the sound of that, Louis can practically _feel_ the glare being burned into the side of Louis’ face.

“Surgery, Louis,” Harry states. “You could’ve needed surgery.”

Harry, being the knight and shining armor that he is, had volunteered himself to drive Louis to the ER while the rest of the guys went home. Stan and Calvin had demanded they go in with Louis, not wanting to leave him by himself but, Louis, despite still being tipsy, could envision the disaster that their presence would bring if they came, and shut that idea down immediately.

Louis had demanded that Harry just bring him to the walk-in by the fire station, but Harry wasn’t having it and drove him straight to Mt. Vernon’s Medical Center.

“So,” Dr. Taylor says, hoping to break the tension in the room, “what color cast would you like?”

By 5AM, Louis’ arm is wrapped in a bright blue cast, a prescription of pain meds, a card dating his next appointment, and a tired Harry Styles leading him out to his truck in the ER parking lot. They’re both quiet as they climb into the truck. Louis can see the sun rising on the horizon, making him sick to his stomach as he thinks about how, not only is he most likely going to have to go straight to school the second Harry drops him off, but how is he going to explain this to his mom without having his head cut right off and fed to Abbey Mae on a silver platter.

“Are you pissed?” Louis asks weakly as Harry pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road.

Harry shakes his head. “What the hell were you doing, Louis? The three of you—what the hell were y’all thinking?”

“Stan wanted to see The Baptism—”

“How did you even _know_ about that?” Harry asks.

Louis gulps. “Can’t reveal my sources.”

“I could probably guess who it was.”

When Louis doesn’t reply, Harry turns briefly to look at him. Louis nods, urging him to continue.

“Either Santiago or Shim,” Harry states confidently.

There it is—Santiago. Louis thinks back to his conversation with Zayn earlier that morning. Or yesterday morning, he thinks with a wince.

“It wasn’t Santiago,” Louis offers. “And why do you think it was Shim?”

Harry shrugs. “He’s like, in love with Eleanor, who happens to be your best friend. It makes sense right? I know he hangs around with your group a lot.”

“Well, I’m not going to confirm or deny your suspicions,” Louis states firmly.

“It was definitely Shim,” Harry decides with a smirk.

Louis groans. “Don’t hurt the poor kid. He slipped and Stan forced it out of him. Stan may be a softy on the outside, but hell does the kid have power.”

“I won’t _hurt_ him,” Harry corrects, the smirk unmoving. “He’s just gonna have to go to the gym for an extra hour tomorrow. Maybe two.”

They drive in silence for a few more minutes until, much to Louis’ surprise, Harry’s turning into the parking lot Donuts Etc. between the Dairy Bar and Sonic. It’s a small warehouse-type place that a few of the kids from Wyatt work at during the summer, including Lottie.

“What do you want?” Harry asks as he reaches across the dash to grab his wallet from the glove box in front of Louis.

“What?”

Harry raises a brow fondly. “Damn, are we sure you aren’t concussed, too?” He nods towards the shack in front of them. “What do you want?”

Louis frowns. “Are you seriously buying me breakfast after I interrupted a major Lions tradition, made you drive me to the hospital, and am most likely making you late for school as we speak?”

“We can reschedule the Baptism,” Harry reasons. “And I’ll just skip Geography and lunch to sleep in the nurse’s office.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“What do you _want_ , Louis?” Harry laughs. “You said it yourself—we haven’t got all day.”

Louis shakes his head in disbelief. “Um,” he chuckles, “a cinnamon roll? And a regular coffee with no sugar?”

Harry nods with a grin. “One cinnamon roll and regular coffee with no sugar coming right up.”

It takes a total of two minutes for Harry to grab their donuts and return to the truck. He hands Louis the tray holding their coffees before sliding into his seat behind the wheel.

The second Harry places the white bag on his lap, Louis practically rips it open, allowing the sweet scent of warm cinnamon to flood the inside of the truck. His mouth waters just looking at the icing covered pastry.

“Fuck, I don’t deserve you,” Louis groans as he reaches into the bag to pull out the cinnamon roll in all of its sticky goodness.

Harry chuckles and takes his vanilla coconut donut out from his own bag. “It’s not a problem.” He takes a bite and hums, his eyes closing as he swallows. “ _So_ good.”

Louis nods in agreement as he continues to demolish his cinnamon roll. They’re back on the road once they’ve both finished their donuts and Louis’ thrown the bags out in the garbage a few feet away from his door.

As they drive, Louis can’t help thinking about Harry’s mention of Santiago, both to him and to Zayn. He can’t help but be curious why Harry is suddenly so aware of Santiago.

“Why would you think Santiago told me about the Baptism?” Louis asks as Harry turns onto 67-S.

Harry shrugs, appearing not to be phased by the question. Louis almost wishes that he was phased. _Almost._ “I don’t know. I guess, just cause like, y’all dated or whatever, and he was on the team…” He yawns and shrugs again. “I don’t know. I just figured, I guess.”

Louis frowns, not too deep, but enough for the skin to wrinkle between his brows. “We broke up before he graduated. In like, March.”

“So? Don’t you still talk to him?”

“I mean, sometimes,” Louis admits. He takes a sip of his coffee, wincing when the hot liquid hits his tongue. He swallows it, regardless. “Do you still talk to Heaven? Or Patrick?”

Now, Harry appears a little phased. “Sometimes.” He turns to look at Louis, just for a second. “I dated Heaven, like, two years ago.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “It was your sophomore year, QB. Not _too_ long ago. And you dated Patrick the majority of your junior year.”

Harry chuckles. “What, you keepin’ tabs on me and my love life, Tommo?”

“Of course,” Louis jokes. Only, it’s not really a joke. Louis would literally watch Harry and Patrick while the two were together, wishing it were _him_ tying Harry’s hair into bun or picking him up from football practice. He had swallowed up those feelings when he started seeing Santiago, but once that relationship had ended, Louis went back to visualizing himself braiding Harry’s hair and massaging his feet after football practice. Harry doesn’t need to know that, though. “What else would I possibly do with my time if it isn’t spent keeping tabs on who Harry Styles is sucking face with?”

“Wow, that’s graphic,” Harry replies with a snort before taking a sip from his iced coffee.

“Well, that’s my life, Harry. _Graphic_ ,” Louis continues as seriously as possible. “Imagine a life dedicated to watching an ugly football player mack on volleyball players and beauty queens.”

Instead of defending the honor of his exes and past lovers—whatever you want to call them—Harry smirks.

“You missed the part where you climb trees only to fall out of them and end up in a fucking cast.”

-

Louis gets dropped off about half a block from his house, much to Harry’s protests.

“If my mom sees you, she’ll freak,” Louis had reasoned. “I’ll never be allowed out of the house or in your presence again.”

Jay is just pulling into the driveway when Louis is on the front porch, pulling his house key from the pocket of his denim jacket. She seems far too calm for someone to find their son with a cast on his arm as he’s coming home at six in the morning. But, she’s always been known to keep her cool when necessary.

Instead of going off on a rampage, demanding answers and threatening to lock him in his room for the rest of his life, she just shakes her head and glares as she makes her way from the truck in the driveway to where Louis stands, waiting in front of the door. She stops in front of him, eyes hard and jaw clenched.

“You have some serious explaining to do, Tomlinson.”

She sits him down at the counter in the kitchen. Neither of them say a word. Louis doesn’t dare open his mouth, not until he’s being addressed directly, knowing how quick Jay would be to whoop his ass if anything wrong were to come out of his mouth. Like he’s said before—sweetest woman in the entire state of Texas. But, she can be an absolute hard-ass when she needs to be.

Jay leans over the counter across from him, elbows perched with a cup of lukewarm coffee from the hospital cafeteria in her hands.

“Let’s start with why I’ve come home to find you sneaking in at six in the morning in your clothes yesterday, shall we? Then, you can tell me why your arm is in a _cast_.”

Louis takes a deep breath before explaining the events leading up to his visit to Mt. Vernon Medical. He skips around the fact that he had been on the lighter side of drunk when he had fallen. He also skips the bit where Harry had held his hand as he had his arm examined, absorbing the squeezes Louis gave him every time the pain in his arm hit him too hard.

By the time Louis gets to how Harry drove him back, Jay appears to have already come to her own conclusion. Once he’s finished talking, not sitting silently, she nods, slowly.

“We have a problem, Louis,” she says. “ _You_ have got a problem.” Her voice is still so calm, despite the fire burning in her eyes. “You’ve been in school for less than a month and you’ve already been grounded and landed yourself in the hospital. That ain’t normal. Sure, you’ve always snuck out and gone out and partied, I know, but this is not the same. You have a broken arm, Louis. Now, I’m starting to think that maybe this is my doing.”

“Mama, this isn’t your—”

“No, it is,” Jay states sternly, slapping a hand against the counter. “I’m too lenient with you. I ground you, then I let you slowly slip out and, before you know it, we’ve all forgotten that you were grounded in the first place.” She shakes her head. “No more of that, you hear me? From now on, you are to only leave the house if it’s for school, work, church, or other chores I may give you to do. You’ll be grounded until further notice—further notice being when I find that you’re buckling down and using your brain the way I raised you to use it. Do you hear me, Tomlinson?”

Louis nods solemnly, unable to meet his mother’s eyes. “I hear you.”

She watches him for a minute, not saying a word. Finally, she stands up straight and turns around to throw her coffee into the trash below the sink. “Go upstairs and get some rest. I’ll call the school and let them know that you won’t be attending.” She turns and raises a brow. “You’ll be picking Lottie up from school and driving the twins to 4H after school.”

Louis nods again. “Yes, ma’am.”

Without another word, Jay walks past him towards her room down the hall. Louis doesn’t move until he hears her door close and, when he does, he takes a deep breath and hopes he doesn’t puke right then and there.

He pops one of his prescribed pills before changing out of his jeans. He doesn’t try taking off his t-shirt, too afraid to mess with the cast, before climbing under his covers and plugging his phone in.

As soon as his phone lights up, he notices he has who knows how many texts. Louis hadn’t checked the thing since getting into the truck with Harry before heading to the hospital, which explains the amount of texts.

He shots a text to Stan, Cal, Zayn, and a few of the other guys wondering how he was doing and whether or not he would become an amputee. They’re all fairly disappointed to find that Louis’ been given a cast, rather than his right arm in a jar surrounded by embalming fluid.

The only notifications that really catches his eye are Harry’s, delivered a little over five minutes ago.

_how dead are you?_

_scale of 1 – 10, 10 being DEAD_

Louis chuckles and replies, _about a 9 :/_

Harry’s reply comes in less than thirty seconds.

_ouch… how long are you grounded for?_

_until further notice. basically until im 25_

It takes Harry longer to reply and, when he finally does, it’s around noon and Louis is waking up to the sound of his alarm that he had set before going to sleep. After only six hours of what felt like sleepless sleep, Louis could use either a nice cup of coffee or a double dose of 5-hour energy.

 _not in school today?_ Harry’s text reads.

Louis texts back, _nope :/ ive been in bed since I got home_

_lucky!!! Im fucking beat rn_

Louis frowns, instantly feeling guilty. After all, he _is_ the one that caused both him and Harry to be up until six in the morning.

_Im sorry I kept you up so late qb_

Harry’s response is instantaneous and so _Harry_.

 _no one else I would’ve driven to the hospital with_ , he texts back, with an upside down smiley face emoji.

Louis chuckles.

_not even peyton manning?_

_… maybe manning …you know me too well tommo_

Before he has a chance to reply, his phone buzzes with an incoming text from his mom.

_Hope you’re awake. I told Lottie you would pick her up after school. And don’t forget to bring the twins to 4H. Please take your pills. Love you and text if you need anything xo_

Louis sighs and lets his head fall back against his pillow. It isn’t the first time he’s found himself grounded for as long as what could be considered as ‘for eternity’. Back in his sophomore year, when Jay had walked in on him and JD going at it, Louis was sure he would never see the sunlight again. Thankfully, the punishment wasn’t _that_ horrendous—sure, Jay had grounded him for a month and made sure that he never brought JD around again (that didn’t stop them from sneaking around for a few more months), but that was nothing Louis couldn’t deal with. That was almost as bad when she had found a condom wrapper under his bed. No condom—just the wrapper. While that hadn’t led to punishment, it _did_ lead to a long talk about safe sex, relationships, and things Louis wishes he never had to discuss with his mother.

Then, there was the time that she had found the empty thirty-pack Louis had dumbly left in the back of the truck. Louis has never seen as much rage embodied in such a small human being than when Jay had sat at the counter the morning after she found the box, some of the empty cans still in the crushed cardboard, which she had left on the kitchen counter for Louis to find once he woke up. She was more furious at the idea of Louis drinking, rather than the idea that he was having sex, interestingly enough.

Long story short, Louis has found himself in quite a few binds. He’s sure that, while this might be the most serious offense on his part, it probably won’t last forever. It might last longer than a month, but definitely not forever.

 _Hopefully_ not forever.

-

Louis doesn’t see Harry again until Thursday during study hall. What with his punishment and the endless amount of chores Jay comes up with for him in order to keep him busy, the only time Louis has time to socialize with people other than the Tomlinson clan are when he’s in class and during lunch.

“Well, now that you’re on lockdown, you’ve got time to make me some of those double chocolate chip cookies that I like,” Zayn had said during lunch one day with a wink, only partly joking. Louis ended up bringing him the cookies the next day.

He sees Harry sometimes during lunch and when he’s going from French to English. They’re brief interactions where they smile and wave. In some instances, they’ll stop and talk, if only for five minutes at a time as to not be late for class.

They text though. A lot. It’s weird and unfamiliar, but every time Louis sees Harry’s name pop up on the lock screen of his phone, he finds himself fighting the urge to squeal. It’s only dumb things, like if one of them sees something funny on twitter or if they both happen to be watching the same thing on TV. Harry’s cute, sometimes sending Louis snapchats of him doing the most random things, whether it be him washing the dishes or singing along to a song on the radio on his way to school or practice in the morning.

It’s terrifying.

The first time they actually have a conversation since Harry dropped Louis off at home after the hospital is during Louis’ study hall after Drama. He’s sitting at one of the tables by himself doing PreCalc homework when Harry walks in. Usually, he has Shim and Dani to keep him company, but Shim promised Eleanor he would help her work on her project for her fashion class and Dani had to retake a test, leaving Louis all by himself.

They spot each other at the same time. Louis’ trying to balance his pencil on the tip of his finger when, just past the tip of his finger, a spots Harry walking into the library. Harry nods with what Louis would describe as a half-smile, a pencil behind his ear and one hand curled around the strap of his backpack on his shoulder.

For some reason, Louis’ slightly shocked to find that, instead of going to an empty table or joining Kennedy at her table across the library, Harry makes a B-line straight for Louis.

“Feels like I haven’t seen you in forever,” Harry says as he sits down in the chair across from Louis. “You doin’ okay in purgatory?”

Louis snorts, so used to his punishment being labelled as ‘house arrest’ or ‘lockdown’. ‘Purgatory’ is a new one.

“I’m surviving, at the very least,” Louis replies. “How about you? I’m sure Nelson found out about the whole thing, right?”

Harry winces. “He’s got an idea, yeah.” He shrugs. “I’ve got an extra hour of conditioning every day. _And_ he’s made me become the temporary manager of the cheerleaders.”

“So, he’s basically made it his personal mission to make you suffer,” Louis jokes, still attempting to balance his pencil on the tip of his finger. It distracts him from the way Harry’s curls stick to the thin layer of sweat on his forehead or the way his dark grey Lions t-shirt pulls tight across his chest and shoulders.

“Basically,” Harry agrees. He chuckles, watching as Louis struggles to balance the pencil. “What’re you working on?”

“Oh, physics, really,” Louis concludes, eyes hard as he focuses on the pencil. He can practically feel the particles of the wooden object arguing with one another—running back and forth along the length of the pencil, trying to get it to roll or slide off of his finger.

“Is that what this is?” Harry asks, playing along. “I don’t remember Hardy teaching us the uh, the equation for—what would you call it? —balancing a pencil on one’s finger?”

Louis scoffs. “Well, Harold, unlike you, who’s knowledge of physics is limited, at best, _I_ have quite an open brain; so many things float in and out, the amount of knowledge being _unmeasurable_.”

Harry, trying his best not to laugh, continues to play along. “Clearly, I’m below you.”

Louis wishes that were the case.

“At least you’re starting to come to your senses, five-seven.” He frowns and shifts his entire body to the left as his pencil tilts too far, threatening to slide off of his digit. “While you may be more intelligent in the arena of concussions and grass stains, _I_ have a knowledge far too vast for your small, little bruised brain to even comprehend.”

The comment appears to startle the football player. He slowly smiles as he thinks up a response. “You clearly are far more intelligent than I imagined, Tomlinson. Especially in the art of breaking bones and getting grounded.”

Louis gasps, acting offended. He drops the pencils and flings it between Harry’s eyes, the pencil smacking him in the forehead with no real arm behind it. “How fucking dare you. Leave, right now.”

Harry laughs, loud and unlike anything Louis’ ever heard. “Am I wrong, though? You’ve got a knack for it, Tommo.”

“You’re terrible and I hate you,” Louis states, choosing to ignore the football player in favor of opening his notebook.

Harry takes the pencil from where it had landed after it hit his head and manages to balance it perfectly on the tip of his finger. “You actually love me, so you’re a liar.”

Louis rolls his eyes and digs in his backpack for another pencil. When he can’t find a pencil, he grabs the first thing he finds, which happens to be a red Sharpie that he definitely stole from someone. Maybe Eleanor or Niall.

“The fact that you just called me a liar makes me dislike you even more,” Louis says, pointedly ignoring the fact that Harry manages to balance the pencil on his finger with absolutely no struggle. Fucking show-off.

“Do you normally take notes in Sharpie?” Harry asks smugly.

Louis rolls his eyes theatrically. “Not all of us can be graced with a lifetime’s supply of pens and pencils, Harry.” He sighs dramatically. “We have to work with what we’ve got.”

“So melodramatic,” Harry chuckles.

“Hey, no one’s signed your cast yet,” Harry points out, still balancing the pencil.

Louis glances at his arm, noting that, yes, Harry was correct. No one has signed it yet. Weirdly enough, the thought hadn’t come to his mind. In elementary school, when he had broken his ankle after falling out of Niall’s older brother’s truck, practically the entire town had signed his cast.

“Give me your Sharpie.” Harry holds his palm out.

“Don’t write anything inappropriate,” Louis instructs as he hands Harry the Sharpie. “My mom is gonna be seeing this, five-seven.”

Harry scowls. “How dare you accuse me of being anything other than appropriate.” He uncaps the Sharpie and scoots his chair around closer to Louis, angling himself so he has easy access to Louis’ arm.

“Right, a perfect little church boy,” Louis murmurs, watching as the football player holds onto Louis’ wrist and angles the Sharpie over the top of his cast.

His script is big and child-like, some of the words running together as if they’re trying to be cursive, but they’re not quite cursive.

Between words, Harry glances up, catching Louis watching his hand. He stops, mouth agape. “Don’t peak,” he scolds, moving his free arm around Louis’ arm, attempting to block Louis’ view from where he’s writing.

Louis rolls his eyes and turns his head. “I’m _not_ looking. Who would _want_ to look at you, anyway?”

Harry snorts and smirks, continuing to write. “ _Oh, Harry, you’re so hot_ ,” he practically moans, unskillfully attempting to mimic Louis’ voice, undoubtedly drawing plenty of unwanted attention from the rest of the people around them or within the library. _“Oh my god, Harry, take me to bed, you’re so fucking_ —”

“I do _not_ sound like that,” Louis cackles, slapping Harry with his free arm across the side of his shoulder. He tries to control the smile that finds its way onto his face, but that’s such a feat, especially when Harry is grinning from ear to ear, starring at Louis, making him feel as if he’s the only person in the world.

“You’re going to ruin my writing if you keep attacking me,” Harry laughs as Louis slaps him again. “Stay still, you menace. If you move again, I’m legit going to draw a dick.”

While he knows that the last thing Harry would ever do is draw something like a dick on his cast, Louis obeys and stays still. Instead of watching Harry’s hand move across his arm, he watches the way the skin between his brows furrows and how his teeth dig into his bottom lip. It’s a look of concentration—a look that Louis has seen on the boy numerous times. Typically, it’s when the football player is on the field, watching his players assemble around him as he’s about to make a pass.

It’s less than a minute before Harry’s capping the Sharpie and letting go of Louis’ arm. “Boom.”

“Took you long enough,” Louis mumbles before reading the words now permanently printed on his cast, the letters still shiny and fresh against the pale blue.

_Thanks for keeping things interesting, H x_

Louis can’t help but laugh as he reads the message written across his arm. “Christ, Harry, it’s not a greeting card.” He doesn’t ask why on God’s green earth it took Harry so fucking long to write _that_.

Harry pouts, his brows furrowed as he looks from Louis’ delighted face to his arm. It’s utterly adorable and it takes practically all of Louis’ willpower to not kiss the pout off the football player’s face.

“Gee, thanks,” Harry grunts. “Forgive me for trying to liven it up a bit.”

He’s joking, Louis knows. Louis can see the small smiling peeking out from behind the pout, the dimple threatening to expose itself on Harry’s cheek. However, despite this, Louis still finds himself saying, in all sincerity, “I love it, H. It’s definitely the best message I’m ever going to have written on this thing. Even if ‘keeping things interesting’ entails embarrassing myself while drunk and breaking a few limbs along the way,”

“Trust me, you’re one of the most interesting people around these parts, Tomlinson,” Harry points out as he reaches into his backpack, pulling a slim, turquois textbook. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to try to suffocate myself with this book so I don’t have to study from or take a test on it tomorrow.”

Louis tilts the book in Harry’s hands to read the front. _Latin._ Louis snorts. “How are you going to suffocate yourself with a book? Don’t you need a pillow or a plastic bag or something?”

“You clearly don’t watch enough CSI.”

“I’m more of a Walking Dead or Breaking Bad kinda guy,” Louis admits with a shrug.

Harry cringes. “I’ve never gotten around to Walking Dead—too gory.”

“I’d say CSI is just as gory,” Louis argues.

“It’s not _nearly_ as gory as the Walking Dead,” Harry states firmly. “And, even if it was _half_ as gory, at least the people in it aren’t all dead and eating each other.”

They spend the duration of study hall arguing back and forth, whether it be about the gore-factor or which character is more iconic. Harry is adamant that Grissom is a crime hero, while Louis argues that he will stand by Rick’s side until the day he dies, _even_ if his favorite character is actually Carol.

“And, anyways, Grissom is hardly the hottest character,” Louis states. “Nick wins that title.”

“He’s hotter than Rick.”

Louis gasps. “Okay, Rick may be rough around the edges, but I wouldn’t go as far to say that Grissom is hotter.”

Needless to say, they get a bit heated. Louis, being the Capricorn that he is, doesn’t let Harry say anything without having a counterargument. They go back and forth for the rest of the period, laughing and attacking each other with banter and doodling on each other’s arms with the Sharpie. Mrs. Madison, the librarian, only tells them to quiet down twice. The only reason they don’t get kicked out after their first strike is because Harry is _Harry_.

By the time the clock strikes 11 and everyone is moving on to their next class, Louis feels as if all the weight—his arm, his mom, his overwhelming crush on Harry—has been lifted off of his shoulders and thrown so far away that he forgot that he even _had_ a weight on his shoulders.

“What class do you have now?” Harry asks as they both start packing their things, Harry making it his priority to take Louis’ three subject notebook and place it into the boy’s backpack.

It’s things like _that_ —Harry helping Louis put his books away—that give Louis unwanted butterflies.

“English,” Louis groans as he hoists his backpack onto the shoulder attached to his uninjured arm. “What about you?”

“I have another study hall,” Harry states.

Louis frowns. “How did you manage to get two study hall periods in a row?”

“I took both Biology and Chem my sophomore year and I don’t have to take a gym class because of, you know, football,” Harry explains. “So, instead of taking another elective, I have two study halls.”

“Lucky bastard.”

Louis leads Harry to the big metal doors of the library, waving to an only slightly disgruntled Mrs. Madison on their way out. “I guess that means you have no excuse to be handing in homework late, huh?”

“Pass or no play, right?”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” Louis chuckles.

“I uh, I actually don’t study or do homework during my second study period, though,” Harry admits with a shrug. “I usually just go to the weight room and work out for a bit. Blow off some steam.”

As if Louis wasn’t already constantly flustered by just being in Harry’s presence, he’s now flooded with the image of Harry, sweaty and worked up, lifting weights and doing whatever else it is the football players do in the weight room. He steals Harry’s water bottle from one of the side pockets on the boy’s backpack, taking a long, generous swig. The cold water cools his throat, hopefully repressing the heat currently flooding his cheeks.

“You good?” Harry asks amusedly.

Louis nods and hands the bottle back to Harry, slamming it against the boy’s chest. “Yeah, just thirsty.”

Harry snorts. “You wanna come with me?”

“What?” Louis frowns up at the boy beside him. “To work out?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, keep me company. The other guys usually just fuck around on the track or sign themselves out and go to Applebee’s.” Louis’ half sure that Harry’s eyes continue to slip from Louis’ eyes to his lips.

“Seriously?” Louis asks with a laugh. “Why don’t you go with them?”

“Eh, I can get my extra hour of conditioning out of the way,” he states. “It gets boring though. If Liam and I had the same schedule, he’d be going with me, but…”

“But, Liam has a different schedule,” Louis fills in with a guess. “Are you suggesting I skip English?”

The football player bites his lip. There go his eyes again, straying down Louis’ face. “I am rarely a bad influence—”

“Could ‘a fooled me,” Louis interrupts with a laugh.

“Shut it,” Harry chuckles. “This is the only time I will ever ask you to do anything against the rules, okay?”

“Hm, well, that’s no fun.” Louis smirks. “If anyone should know that breaking rules is one of my favorite past times, it would be you.”

Harry raises a brow. “So, is that a yes?”

-

The weight room smells just as Louis remembers it to smell since the last time he had stepped foot in the dreaded place—sweat, rubber, and the underlying remnants of lemon scented cleaner. His nose wrinkles as soon as they walk through the metal doors. It’s a big room, one wall made up of mirrors and lined with benches and wracks upon wracks of weights and dumbbells. The other side of the room is lined with machines, all of which far are too complicated for Louis to figure out.

He’s always been more of a cardio guy, anyways. Running, that is.

“I’m just gonna change, then I’ll be right back,” Harry says as he finishes signing the two of them in on the clipboard hanging on the wall to the right of the doors.

Louis nods, watching the football player cross the room to the door hidden in the far right corner leading to the locker room. Once he finds himself alone, he decides that all of the machines and the rest of the equipment filling the room resemble monsters. Like, transformers, where they look like cars or, in this case, rowers or calf press machines before turning into huge, metal beasts.

He settles onto one of the cushioned benches, dropping his backpack to the ground before lying back. He lifts his arms, mimicking the motions of a bench-press.

Back in his sophomore year, during soccer season, Louis spent most of his time in the weight room. Being a smaller guy, only 5’9” with probably the least amount of muscle on the team, Louis made it his mission to build up muscle in his arms and thighs. No one necessarily gave him shit for it, but Louis gave _himself_ shit for it. He saw how easy it was for the other guys to gain weight, all in muscle, and envied the way they would transition throughout the season. None of them got as big as the football players, that was a given, but they got big nonetheless.

“How much can you lift?”

Louis turns his head, arms still bent in the air above his chest, to watch Harry approaching him. He’s wearing those neon yellow sneakers, highlighting the floor beneath him. His shorts hung low on his hips, ending a few inches above his knees, displaying his toned, pale thighs. Louis swallowed, suddenly feeling warmth crawl up the back of his neck.

When Louis doesn’t reply, too busy ogling the quarterback in probably the most blatant way, Harry raises a brow. “Lou?”

“Oh, um, lifting.” Louis clears his throat, sitting up from the bench and rubbing his palms against the denim covering his thighs. “I don’t really remember, to be honest with you. I’m not necessarily a strength kind of guy. I was always better out on the track or the treadmill.”

“C’mon, give me a guess,” Harry urges with a grin.

Louis groans and rises from where he was sat on the bench. He scans the barbells stacked on the rack against the wall, running his fingers along the weights before stopping. “I think I got up to a hundred pounds. I never tried more than that. By the time I reached a hundred, soccer season was over and I stopped lifting altogether.”

Harry nods and hums. “Think you can still handle a hundred pounds?”

Louis laughs with a shake of his head. “I can probably barely lift eighty now.”

“I doubt that.” The football player skips over a few weights before tapping the one-two-five pounder. He doesn’t bother asking Louis to help lift the barbell, even though Louis could at least offer his non-injured hand. Harry grunts, only slightly, as he lifts the weight from the rack and places it on the bench.

“Spot me?” Harry asks as he sits and reclines back on the bench, watching his head as to not whack it on the barbell.

Louis nods, standing behind Harry, watching as the boy carefully lifts the weight. “It’ll be more of a spotter in theory than practice,” Louis says. “If you actually end up dropping this thing, I’m probably not going to be able to stop it.”

Harry chuckles. “Let’s hope it doesn’t slip then.”

From what Louis can tell, Harry’s as much about strength as Louis _isn’t_ about strength. Channeling his days in the weight room during the previous years, Louis compares Harry’s technique and abilities to RJ, the biggest, bulkiest kid that Louis has ever seen play soccer. RJ was a huge, significantly built kid, resembling more of a wrestler or football player than a soccer player. Harry’s focused and consistent, raising and lowering the weight in perfect succession.

After watching a few reps, Louis can safely assume that Harry spends as much time working out as Louis _doesn’t_. By the time he’s gone through two sets of ten reps, Harry has barely broken a sweat and is ready to move onto one-fifty, claiming the one-twenty-five was _just a warm up_.

“Christ, you make me look like a slacker,” Louis laughs as he watches Harry put the one-twenty-five back in exchange for the one-fifty. Harry just shakes his head fondly in response.

Harry does the same amount of reps in each set with the one-fifty as he had with the one-twenty-five. Louis can finally spot beads of sweat dotting his hair line, darkening the neon pink of his head band.

“Alright, break,” Harry grunts after his fifth set. Louis helps him set the barbell back on the bench and watches as the football player sits up and stretches his arms above his head. Louis can hear joints in Harry’s shoulders and back crack, the sound loud and unpleasant.

“You good?” Louis asks, tugging on one of the strands of hair that freed themselves from Harry’s bun on the back of his head.

Harry nods. “Wanna come with me to the locker room? I left my water in my bag.”

“Isn’t there a vending machine at the end of the hall?” Louis asks, jutting his thumb back towards the door of the weight room.

“Yeah, but my money’s in the locker room too,” Harry points out.

Louis rolls his eyes and walks over to his backpack that’s sitting underneath the sign-in sheet by the door. “I can just get it for you, no biggie.”

“You don’t have to—”

“If you make a big deal about me spending a dollar and fifty cents on you, I will let you crush yourself with a barbell and not call nine-one-one,” Louis states with a grin as he digs through his bag, finding his wallet tangled with his car keys. He pulls out a five, waving it in Harry’s direction. “Big or small water?”

Louis already knows the answer before Harry can even open his mouth.

“Small, please.”

“Big one it is.”

It only takes Louis a minute to go to the vending machine at the end of the hall, buy the water bottle, and go back down the hall to the weight room. When he gets back, Harry has turned on the radio sat in the corner by the mats and stacks of medicine balls.

“Really, Harry? Miley Cyrus?” Louis asks with a skeptical look on his face, water in hand, as he approaches the football player currently doing sit ups on the mat.

Harry finishes a sit up before lowering his knees and laying back, star-fished on the mat. “Don’t bash Miley. Dead Petz was an underrated album.”

Louis rolls his eyes and drops the bottle next to Harry’s head, barely missing his temple. Harry doesn’t even flinch, much to Louis’ frustration.

“You just gonna lie here?” Louis goads, nudging his foot against Harry’s side. “How am I supposed to entertain _you_ when you can’t entertain _me_?”

“I don’t remember agreeing to entertaining you,” Harry points out, sitting up and twisting off the cap of his water. “Thanks for the water.”

Louis wanders over to Harry’s phone that’s plugged into the radio. “No wonder the guys fuck off rather than workout with you; you play shit like Miley Cyrus and—oh my god, Harry, TLC? In your workout playlist?”

“They hype me up!” Harry defends himself, looking over his shoulder at Louis. “ _I seen a rainbow yesterday, but too many storms have_ —”

“You know the rap!” Louis cries, pointing at Harry and grinning from ear to ear. “You _actually_ know the rap.”

“I know the rap,” Harry states proudly.

Louis shakes his head. “You’re something else, Styles.”

“What the hell is this bullshit.”

“Fuck off, I’ve already been made fun of enough,” Harry groans, the smile still strong on his face.

Will Flaherty, a junior and one of the wide receivers with Jacob Gilman, another junior and wide receiver, wander into the weight room, already dressed for a workout with their bags over their shoulders.

“How you doin’, Tommo,” Jacob greets as he passes the older boy.

“I’ll be close to death if your quarterback keeps forcing me to listen to what should be called ‘The Worst Workout Playlist of All Time’, appropriately so,” Louis replies, still scrolling through the playlist.

“Jeans and Vans to workout, Tommo? Really?” Will asks as he drops his bag beside the leg press.

“I’m just here to entertain your lazy quarterback,” Louis states. “No more weight training for me.”

“How much can you lift?” Jacob asks Louis from where he’s stretching out on the mat beside Harry.

“Last I checked, I could lift about a hundred,” Louis reiterates with a shrug.

Will laughs from where he’s setting the amount of weight on his machine. “So just about as much as Styles? What can you lift, QB, ninety-five on a good day?” the wide receiver jokes.

Harry glares at Will over his shoulder, no real malice behind his eyes. “Funny, five-six.”

That’s a lie, Louis knows. Zayn and the other guys have mentioned in the past that, while Harry isn’t exactly a top heavy lifter, he’s extremely dedicated to his conditioning and strength workouts. Not to mention that he had just watched Harry bench Louis’ weight as if it was just a pile of feathers. Louis says as much.

“How much do you weigh?” Jacob asks curiously.

Louis gasps at the same time that Harry tosses the cap from his water bottle square in Jacob’s forehead.

“Never ask a lady her weight,” Louis scolds. “But, in all seriousness, one-forty-five.”

“Oh, I can _definitely_ squat you,” Harry says.

“Well, we’re not going to find out,” Louis laughs as he pauses Miley Cyrus and starts playing a Dr. Dre track.

Harry raises a brow, to which Louis shakes his head.

“No way, Styles.”

 _At least, not in front of Will and Jacob_ , Louis thinks. For all he knows, the knowledge that Harry could lift Louis up and throw him around may result in Louis sporting a boner. In the air. On Harry’s shoulders. Not a scenario that Louis wants to find himself acting out and bringing to life.

Harry, not one to take no for an answer, or so it appears, stands up and, with open arms, approaches Louis. “Can I just try? Just one squat?”

Before Louis can protest— _again_ —Will and Jacob start clapping and howling, both of them pausing their own workouts to watch. God, is this what peer pressure feels like?

“If you drop me, I swear to god—”

“I won’t drop you!” Harry laughs, looking Louis up and down. “I won’t drop you. You’re probably barely one-fifty.”

“Right, because I’m not seven feet ta— _Shit, H,_ give a guy some warning!” Louis screeches as Harry all but swings Louis into the air and atop his shoulders. The movement has Louis feeling disoriented and, as his balance struggles to catch up with him, he feels himself slipping from Harry’s shoulder. The only things keeping him in place are Harry’s arms holding his legs and torso.

“Like I said—nothing,” Harry states as he starts squatting. Louis almost feels self-conscious when he realizes just how easy it is for Harry to lift him. It also gets him a little heated. Only a little.

The football player only manages fifteen reps before he’s lowering himself to the ground and loosening his grip on Louis’ torso, allowing the boy to stand from where he had been previously splayed across Harry’s shoulders.

“Okay, never again,” Louis laughs as he finds his footing, jabbing his pointer finger into the sweaty mess of a t-shirt sticking to Harry’s chest.

“Yeah, you say that now,” the quarterback chuckles, wrapping his own fingers around the one jabbing him in the chest. “C’mon, I have to shower before class.”

Later on, while Louis’ packing his bag at the end of his last class, he spots the person in front of him watching Will’s story on snapchat, the wide receiver laughing as Harry lifts Louis off the ground and proceeds to squat with him on his shoulders.

-

In a town as small as Wyatt things are rarely kept secret for long. So, when rumors start swirling that the boys on the football team are going around asking people to be their dates to their banquet, rumors _also_ start circulating around _who_ is going to ask _who_. Shim obviously asks Eleanor, strictly in a platonic sense, as to not step on any toes (read: Jimmy’s toes). Liam doesn’t even _have_ to ask Soph. Niall’s been talking about asking some girl from St. Helen’s, but Louis’ pretty sure he’ll cave and end up asking Amelia, the same girl he’s been in love with since the sixth grade.

Zayn’s body is stretched out along the edge of Louis’ bed, his phone raised above his head as he scrolls through Instagram. It’s raining pretty heavily outside, the sky a dark grey and the wind clapping loudly against the side of the house. There’s no thunder or lightening, thank god, but Andy McDonald on channel ten for seems pretty adamant that the storm won’t be over until Saturday morning, meaning they’re stuck with the rain for a few more hours.

Meaning that Louis can’t escape Zayn and Lottie’s inquisition unless he wants to be drowned in the rain.

“I heard that Aiden was going to ask Kennedy,” Lottie adds, to which Zayn nods. He even goes as far as to show Louis a picture that Aiden had posted of himself and Kennedy the week ago at their last game.

“Okay, and what does that prove?” Louis asks, only glancing at the photo displayed on Zayn’s phone.

“That he’s not asking Kennedy—he’s asking _you_ ,” Lottie exclaims excitedly.

Louis just rolls his eyes, choosing not to believe the rumors, unlike everyone else in town. He had already been interrogated by Mrs. Finckle, the local real-estate agent, a.k.a. the runner of the grape-vine, at work about whether or not it was true that he would be attending the banquet with the quarterback.

“I’ll believe that he’s asking me once I’ve actually been asked.”

Lottie makes a sound that’s a mix between a squeal and a shriek. “Speak of the fucking devil!”

“ _Charlotte_ , watch your mouth!” Jay shouts from down the hall in the kitchen, where she’s preparing their early dinner before the game.

“Yeah, yeah,” the girl mumbles as she stands up from the foot of Louis’ bed to close the door, handing Louis his phone in the process.

Sure enough, when Louis unlocks his phone, he sees two texts from the quarterback himself.

_hey u coming to the game tonight?_

_bc it’s raining and stuff_

Zayn sits up and rests his chin on Louis’ shoulder and snorts. “You two are gonna date.”

Louis scoffs. “You two need to get lives.” He quickly types out a message to Harry—nothing too cute or endearing, not wanting to encourage Zayn’s absolutely embarrassing behavior.

_I’ll be there, no worries :)_

It only takes Harry a minute or so to reply back.

_Im guessing you won’t be able to go out afterwards?_

“Oh my god, he definitely wants to ask you out,” Lottie states, her chin resting on Louis’ other shoulder.

“I’m going to kill you both,” Louis says flatly as he texts the football player back. “What makes you think that Harry and I are anything other than just friends, anyways?”

_probably not :/ have fun for me tho_

Zayn and Lottie—since when did they become partners in crime? —begin listing off reason why they believe that Louis and Harry are going to end up either banging or dating by the end of their senior year. Zayn decides to be a little ambitious, betting Louis’ little sister that they would be dating by Christmas.

It’s all completely ridiculous, if you ask Louis.

_Can u stay a little later after the game then?_

Before Louis can even type out a reply, his phone vibrates again with another text from Harry.

_I wanna ask you something_

This, of course, sends Zayn and Lottie into hysterics. So much that Jay ends up coming down the hall to see what all the commotion is about. As apparently nothing is sacred anymore, such as secrets between siblings, Lottie goes on to tell Jay that Harry is going to be asking Louis to the banquet.

Jay doesn’t look nearly as pleased as her daughter. She gives Louis a look that he can’t quite decipher. However, instead of deciding to sit Louis down and have yet another talk that Louis would rather not have, Jay simply announces that dinner is nearly ready and that the table needs to be set beforehand. Louis’ grateful, really, as the whole conversation concerning him and Harry makes him kind of uncomfortable.

He would be a liar if he were to deny the fact that, yes, he would love to date Harry. Or, to bang him. All in all, Louis would just like to have Harry in any way that he can have him, whether that be in the way the boy laughs, the way he gives into Louis’ silliness and sarcasm better than most people would bother to. If dating Harry never becomes reality and forever remains as a scenario within the confines of Louis’ mind, then so be it. He’d rather have the football player as a friend than not have him at all.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s somewhat of a normal thing for Zayn to eat dinner with the Tomlinson’s. Both his parents are two of the wealthier members of Wyatt, both commuting to Dallas every day for work. The only reason they’re still living in Wyatt is because of Zayn and his football. But, because they’re always away on business—Louis’ pretty sure that Zayn mentioned them being in Austin this past week—Jay has made it her mission to take Zayn under her wing, to make him one of her own, whenever his parents are away. Doniya even joins them on the weekends that she’s back from school.

Louis doesn’t end up texting Harry back until they’re crammed into Jay’s car on the way to drop Zayn off at the school so he can change and prepare for the game.

_only if u don’t mind driving me home afterwards_

He doesn’t expect a text back from the football player, figuring he, along with the rest of the team, was getting into his zone before the game. Or, something like that.

_no prob! :) can’t wait to see you_

It’s still pouring by the time the game actually starts, Louis being forced to share an umbrella with Eleanor on his left while Lottie shares one with their mom on his right.

They’re playing South Camino, the same team that has kicked the Lions’ ass every year for the past three years. That didn’t stop the Lions from dominating throughout the rest of the season, but the Lions’ history with the Rams only makes this game’s end result that much more vital. God knows Nelson’ll blow a gasket if he doesn’t go home with a win.

The offense starts the game on a good note. The first play is clean; Harry calling the play, receiving the ball in a perfectly choreographed toss from Aiden, handing it off to Niall who _books it_. He fucking runs, throwing it in a perfect spiral to Septelka. It reminds Louis of a dance, or a math equation. Everything comes together like a puzzle, one after the other, piece by piece.

“I heard that Shim asked you to the banquet,” Louis tells Eleanor during one of the Rams’ timeouts in the second quarter, the score being 12-0 in favor of the Lions.

Eleanor nods, watching as the players round together in a big sea of yellow and green on one side and purple and silver on the other. “Yeah, but just as friends.” She looks over at Louis with what he would describe to be a look of guilt. “Y’know, with Jimmy and all.”

Louis just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “It’s not like you and Jimmy are serious or anything. I thought you two were just ho—”

“Shhh!” The girl whispers, subtly pointing to Louis’ family next to him. “We _were_ just, _y’know_ , but he asked me to go out with him tomorrow night. On a date.”

“Really?” Louis asks in surprise. In all his years of knowing Jimmy, the cashier of Lucky’s has never had a serious relationship, nor has he had the intentions of finding one. “A legit date?”

Eleanor nods with a genuine smile. “I think we might make it work, Lou.”

If it weren’t for his best friend’s genuine excitement and hope, Louis would feel worse for Shim. It’s no secret that the linebacker has been head over heels for Eleanor since their freshman year. Eleanor seems to be the only one who hasn’t caught on yet. And, if she has, than she’s a better actress than she’s been letting on.

“Did you tell Shimmy?”

“Uh, no,” she says hesitantly. “He’d be fine with it, though. More free beer!”

“Don’t you think—”

Their attention is drawn back to the game as the players run back out onto the field, all covered in mud and grass stains, before Louis has a chance to finish.

Maybe it’s for the best, he thinks.

No one scores during halftime and, by the end of the third quarter, just as he and Eleanor were going to visit Stan at the concession stand, the Lions are in the lead 19-14, which really isn’t _anything_ , Louis knows.

“God, they could be doing _so_ much better,” Louis can hear his mom saying as they kick off the last quarter. David ends up making a field goal, bringing the score to 22-14. Better. That is, until the other team rushes for 85 yards and makes a touchdown, putting the score at 22-20.

There’re two more timeouts before the end of the game, one for the Lions and one for the Rams. Neither team scores and, before anyone realizes it, there’re two minutes on the clock.

“They’ve just gotta block!” Phoebe all but shouts at the end of the row. Louis isn’t really sure that she knows what it is that she’s talking about, but he gives her an encouraging nod and smile, regardless of whether or not she understands what’s going on out on the field.

The Lions end up winning 22-20, sending the crowd into hysterics. Even with the cold rain hitting him from nearly every angle, the useless umbrella above his head be damned, Louis knows that, in that moment, there is nowhere else he would rather be. Wyatt can be a draining place—Louis probably knows that better than anyone else in his town. But, despite all of that, the feeling of a win is enough to bring him back down to earth.

As Jay is helping the girls pack up and avoid getting hit in the face by the rain, Louis pops the question, “Mama, could I maybe stay a little later? Harry wanted to, uh.” He runs through his own mind, thinking of any reasonable excuse that would allow for Jay to let him stay later with the boy that seems to always be one step behind Louis’ recent fuck-ups.

Jay smirks and nods, asking, “Will he be driving you home?” before Louis even has a chance to come up with an excuse.

“Just don’t be late,” Jay reminds him. “You’re still grounded.”

Louis just nods, surprised by how easily she gave in. He figures that Lottie probably had something to do with it; putting ideas of him and Harry and the banquet in Jay’s head.

“Can I come with?” Eleanor asks as Louis starts making his way down the aisle. “I wanted to congratulate Shim.”

“Duh,” Louis replies, not wanting to say anything more on the matter. He knows that, if he were to open his mouth, he would only say something that he would later end up regretting.

There’s a fair amount of people hanging around the locker room by the time Louis and Eleanor get there. There’re mostly parents and the players’ significant others, all of which are trying to stand as close to the wall as possible, hoping that the slight awning would block out most of the rain. It doesn’t do much, but it’s better than being hit head on, literally.

_im outside the locker room :)_ Louis texts Harry.

It takes a few minutes for Harry to reply, which is no surprise to Louis. He can only imagine what goes on in a locker room after a win as important as this one.

_Ok i’ll be out in a sec! thanks for waiting x_

“I texted Shim,” Eleanor says as she stuffs her phone back into the pocket of her Lions rain jacket. Louis’ afraid to ask whether it’s Shim’s or an old one from Jimmy. “He said they’d all be out in a minute.”

Louis nods. “Yeah, Harry said the same thing.”

True to their word, the team is filtering out of the locker room only a minute or so later. Some have their rain jackets or umbrellas handy, but most simply man against the storm in just their Lions hoodies.

Shim appears before Harry, making a beeline straight for Louis and Eleanor. It’s all a bit awkward, at least on Louis’ part as the onlooker, as they both go in for the hug. It’s painful having to watch this mess unfold, Louis thinks.

“Y’all heading to Turc’s house or are you getting food first?” Shim asks after greetings and being congratulated on the win.

“I’m heading home, actually,” Louis states with a wince. “Still grounded.” He holds up his injured arm, as if to remind Shim on how he had butchered the Baptism. Louis’ gathered quite a few signatures since the accident, but none come close to Harry’s. He reminds the quarterback of that whenever he takes notice of the amount of signatures on Louis’ arm.

Shim winces as well. “That sucks, man.” He turns to Eleanor, his frown vanishing, being quickly replaced by a smile that is _bound_ to win ‘Best Smile’ in the yearbook for the umpteenth year in a row. “Are you going out, El?”

“Yeah, I was gonna try and hitch a ride to Applebee’s before heading to Chris’.”

Louis doesn’t get to hear Shim offer Eleanor a ride as Harry rounds the corner, his hair hanging around his face from under the hood of his Cowboys sweatshirt. Louis carefully moves from where he’s leaning against the brick wall between Shim and Eleanor in order to get closer to the quarterback.

“Nice game,” he congratulates the football player with a gentle fist to his shoulder.

“Not really,” Harry argues with a smile. “We only won by two points. We didn’t even _score_ in the second—”

“Shut _up_ ,” Louis laughs. “You _won_!”

Harry chuckles, his eyes sparkling from where they’re surrounded by thick eyelashes, wet from either the rain or his shower. Maybe both. “Thanks for waiting, by the way. I was worried your mom wouldn’t let you.”

“Of course, H.” Louis crosses his arms over his chest. “What is it you want to ask me?”

“Can we get out of the rain first?” Harry asks with a grin. “I’m fucking freezing and you’re fucking drenched.”

Louis nods. “Oh my god, yes, please. Let me just—”

“Lou, Shim and I are leaving, okay?” Eleanor interrupts with a small hand on Louis’ shoulder. When she notices Harry, she grins. “Congrats on the game QB! You killed it.”

Harry says a thanks and, after they’ve all said their goodbyes, with promises between Louis and Eleanor to text throughout the night, Louis is following Harry to his truck parked next to the Sports Center. Everyone appears to be in the parking lot, making the action of getting into the truck that much more of a process. Everyone wants to congratulate Harry on the game, understandably so, but Louis can’t help but become a little impatient waiting against the passenger door while Harry is congratulated by one of the moms of the second stringers.

“Christ, crank the heat, five-seven.” Louis practically whimpers as Harry starts the truck, both of them shivering in their wet clothes.

They wait until they’ve warmed up a little bit to talk, Harry too afraid he’ll bite off his tongue if he opens his mouth and Louis too nervous to start the conversation.

“I uh, I have a question,” Harry starts off. He doesn’t sound nervous, which is good but, at the same time, he lacks the normal sense of confidence that Louis usually hears in his voice.

Louis snorts. “I figured as much.”

Harry rolls his eyes fondly before continuing. “You know how the football banquet is coming up next weekend?”

_Fucking Lottie_ , Louis thinks. _She always has to be right_. Deep down, he kind of _knew_ that she was right. At least, he had _hoped_ that she would be right.

“Um, yeah,” Louis replies, opting to just play dumb. “I’m pretty sure Shim asked Eleanor as his date. Zayn mentioned it too, I think. That’s next weekend?”

“Yeah, next Saturday,” Harry states.

Louis raises his brows. “That’ll be exciting.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, uh, it should be.” He clears his throat. “I was actually wondering if you wanted to like, go.”

_Play dumb, just play dumb_.

“Isn’t it just for the team and their dates?” Louis asks. “And like, families and boosters or whatever?”

Harry nods again. “Yeah, it is.” He bites his lip and drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “I’m asking if you’d like to be my date, actually.”

The grin that spreads across Louis’ face is one hundred percent unintentional and one hundred percent embarrassing. He doesn’t stop it from spreading though.

“Oh, is _that_ what you’re trying to do?”

“ _Trying_ is the key word,” Harry chuckles, sounding more confident than he had only seconds ago. “I want you to be my date to the banquet.”

“I can’t really say no, can I?” Louis asks lightly. “You _did_ just beat South Camino for the first time in three years.”

Harry snorts. “You know that you can still say no.”

Louis shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m going to.”

“So…we’re going to the banquet together,” Harry clarifies, as if he doesn’t really believe that Louis has actually said yes.

“We’re going to the banquet together,” Louis reassures with a laugh. “I’m going to have to tell my mom. Shit.”

“Oh, right, you’re grounded.” Harry frowns. “Do you think she’ll let you come?”

“She’s going to have to—I’ve been asked by the star of the Lions—”

“Shut up,” the football player laughs. “For real, do you think she’ll be okay with you coming?”

Louis nods. “Probably.” Louis suddenly hatches an idea. “She wouldn’t say no if you asked for her permission.”

The look on Harry’s face just screams _no, no, no._

“You’re serious?”

“ _Duh_. A grand gesture; that’ll make it impossible for her to say no.”

Harry chuckles and shifts the car into reverse. “I’ll consider it.” He turns to Louis before backing out of his spot. “I’m guessing you want me to drop you off at yours?”

“Unfortunately.”

-

By Thursday, it dawns on Louis that he has only two days to figure out what he’s going to wear to the football banquet. His mother, of all people, is the one to approach him about his wardrobe, asking questions like, “ _Do you have to wear green?”_ and “ _Can you wear jeans or do you think you should wear khakis? Should I get out your church trousers_?”

The first person he asks is Zayn. “Khakis and my Lions polo,” the football player had replied. “That’s what the teams always wears.”

No help at all.

Louis gets a similar result when he asks Eleanor what she’s wearing to the banquet. “I have the cutest green summer dress from Bealls that’re gonna look so cute with the Lucchese boots that my aunt got me.”

That’s how, after school on Thursday, Louis finds himself waiting outside the locker room for Harry. He had texted the boy before his afternoon practice, but Louis wasn’t what one would call patient. He knew that Harry wouldn’t reply until he had gotten to his car and gulfed down an entire protein bar. Plus, he figured he had enough time to wait for the football player and to talk to him, knowing that Lottie had to hand in her journalism assignment at the end of the day.

Harry looks surprised when he turns the corner and sees Louis. A good surprise; his eyes light up and his tired frown turns into a bright smile that, if Louis didn’t know Harry, might appear too forced. But, Louis _does_ know Harry. He knows him enough to recognize that his smile is about as genuine as it gets.

“This is a nice surprise,” Harry greets. His skin is flushed and pink from his shower beneath his grey, long sleeve lions tee and navy basketball shorts. Louis bets that the football player is warm to the touch. “What brings you ‘round these parts?”

“I have to ask you a very important question,” Louis replies, his arms folded across his chest and face schooled to appear as serious as possible.

Harry raises a brow, his smile still standing strong. “Important?”

“Very,” Louis confirms. “No messing around when it comes to me.”

This humors the football player, making him laugh. “Okay, shoot.”

“It’s about Saturday. The banquet.”

Harry becomes slightly more serious, more alert. “Alright.”

Louis clears his throat, wanting to milk this as much as possible. “I’ve run into uh, a bit of a roadblock, you could say.”

“A roadblock?”

Louis nods. “Roadblock.”

When Louis doesn’t expand on what his supposed ‘roadblock’ may be, Harry frowns. “And what might this roadblock be?”

“Well, I’ve realized that I didn’t think this whole thing through,” Louis explains. “Going as your date, I mean. Or, going to the banquet at all.” Harry’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t say anything, waiting for Louis to continue. “My mom has brought a bit of information to light.”

“Cut to the chase, Louis, you’re freaking me out,” Harry laughs nervously. “Can you like, not go or something?”

“I don’t know what to wear,” Louis reveals with a slight smirk, finally, and much to Harry’s relief. He doesn’t even try to deflect Harry’s hand that whacks him in the arm. “My mom asked if she needs to take me shopping, except I don’t even _know_ if she does, because I don’t even know what one wears to these types of things.”

Harry shakes his head, his lips pursed but dimple in full bloom, completely blowing whatever front he was trying to pull off. “You’re unbelievable.”

“That doesn’t help me pick out an outfit. Harry. Focus.”

The football player just laughs, continuing to shake his head.

“I know, I’m unbelievable,” Louis exclaims. “But, Harry. _Focus_.” He places his hands on Harry’s shoulders, having to tilt his head up to properly look into the boy’s eyes. “Outfit. Banquet. _Help_.”

“I’m _this_ tempted to not even bring you,” Harry says, pinching his thumb and pointer finger together. He’s joking, Louis knows. However, that doesn’t stop him from flicking Harry in the forehead with his non-injured arm. “Yep, I’m definitely asking Stan now.”

Louis actually laughs at that. A full-on belly laugh that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners and his hands clap together before clutching at his stomach.

“I’m offended that you find the idea of Stan and I so funny,” Harry says, doing his best to hide his own laugh. His dimple deceives him, yet again.

“No, no, I’m sorry, you and Stan are a match made in heaven,” Louis manages to say between laughs. Once he’s finally simmered down and gotten his laughs down to giggles, he says, “I’m sure Stan already has an outfit together and everything. Unlike me.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I am _not_ taking Stan.”

“Then, help me figure out what in the hell I’m supposed to wear.”

“Nothing too fancy,” Harry replies. He shrugs. “I mean, when I brought Patrick last year, he just wore khakis and a green button-up, I think.”

An involuntary cringe appears on Louis’ face at the mention of Patrick. “Well, I’m not Patrick—I have to be dashing.”

Harry snorts. “Right, I forgot that you need to be the center of attention. Just, no falling from trees this time, alright? I don’t think the boosters will appreciate that as much as the guys and I do.”

Louis flicks Harry again on the forehead, Harry managing to catch Louis’ wrist just a second too late as he’s thumped, right between the eyes.

“Think like, a mix of church and casual,” Harry offers with a laugh.

“Oh, so should I ask my mom to return the tuxedo that we rented?” Louis jokes with a wince. “It’s lights up green and everything.”

“Like a Christmas tree?”

“I was going for more of a leprechaun, honestly,” Louis hums in the back of his throat. “But, yeah, I guess that it could pass as a Christmas tree.”

It’s hot outside, hotter than it’s been since before school started, and Louis’ really starting to feel it the longer they stand under the sun. He imagines that the back of his neck _must_ be getting a tan, considering how harshly the sun is hitting his skin. Harry must be feeling the heat too, Louis thinks, judging by the way he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and ties his hair back into a bun on the back of his head.

“Are you going shopping with your mom now or later?” Harry asks as he ties his hair back, the tie snapping against his wrist.

“She’ll probably want to go tomorrow during one of her breaks.” Louis smiles, his head tilted up towards Harry’s. He knocks the toe of his black Converse against Harry’s sneaker. “Why? Wanted to come with to make sure I don’t end up looking atrocious?”

“You couldn’t look atrocious even if you tried.”

At first, Louis almost thinks that he misheard the football player. That is, until he realizes just how sincere the boy is, how genuine his smile is. It makes Louis weak at the knees. He’s pretty _done_ with Harry constantly making him feel weak at the knees. His balance has never been this bad.

“You flatter me, Styles,” Louis mumbles, still feeling so on edge. “What do you want then, if it isn’t to oversee my shopping?”

Harry stuffs his hands in his pockets in the way that Louis has become very familiar with, recognizing it as one of Harry’s many quirks. “I might have hatched a plan that you may or may not like.” The smug look on his face screams _gotcha!_ It screams revenge. Louis hates revenge. Unless he’s on the right end of it, of course.

“And what might that be?” Louis asks skeptically.

The quarterback just smirks, the fucker, and shrugs. He’s still smiling smugly, looking like an ass whole. Fuck, there go Louis’ knees again. _Fuck_. “You’ll just have to wait and find out.”

Louis’ brows raise, not in the mood to be played with. “Styles.”

“Tomlinson.” Harry starts walking, moving past Louis on his way to the parking lot. “Don’t you have to drive Lottie home and pick up the twins?”

“ _Styles_ —”

“I’ll see you later, Louis!” Harry sing-songs, turning around to face Louis, walking backwards towards the parking lot. “I’ll tell my date, Stan, that you gave us your blessing!”

Louis just glares after the boy, thinking of all the ways he wants to kill him, yet kiss the fuck out of him at the same time.

-

It’s a common occurrence for the Tomlinson’s to start dinner without the head Tomlinson, what with her constant night shifts or unbalanced sleeping patterns. So, Louis has become very familiar with just about every worker at just about every other takeout restaurant within a ten-mile radius.

“What do we do on Thursday?” Lottie asks as she rifles through their hundreds of takeout menus. The twins are sitting behind the counter in front of her, helping to organize the menus into piles, despite the fact that, the next time they order takeout, the pile is just going to once again become a jumbled mess. “Thai or Italian?”

“Italian. Rolling Tomato, right?” Louis’ sitting on the living room, Abbey Mae sprawled across his lap as he rubs her belly.

Lottie hums in thanks and, once she’s found the right menu, grabs the phone from where it’s hooked to the wall by the doorway leading into the living room. “The usual?”

“Yeah,” Louis replies. “Make sure to get the Fettucine Carbonara for mom, too.” He grins down at the hound in his lap. “And please, Lots, only get a small Veggie Lover’s this time? You’re literally the only one eats it.”

Someone is knocking on the door before Lottie even has a chance to defend her choice to constantly order a medium Veggie Lover’s even though she only ever eats about three or so slices, meaning the other half of the pizza ends up in the trash. She groans and, when it comes evident that no one else is going to get the door, takes it upon herself to check the door.

Louis hears him before he sees him, along with the smell of Supreme Pizza and Adidas cologne. So does Abbey, apparently, as she nearly lacerates the artery in Louis’ leg as she stands and practically sprints towards the door.

“What the—”

“Hello, Tomlinson family!” Harry greets loudly, letting himself into the house, pizzas and takeout containers heavy in his arms. “Should I just put these on the table?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Louis asks, not moving from his place on the floor other than to look at Harry over his shoulder.

“Louis, watch your language around the twins.” Jay comes walking in before Louis even has a chance to register the fact that Harry is standing in his house with their dinner in his arms. “Y’all ready to eat?”

The kids all stare in confusion as Harry helps Jay clear her piles of paperwork from the table in order to make room for everyone. The two only pick up on the eyes following them when Jay is directing Harry to the paper plates.

“What’re y’all looking at?” Jay asks with a laugh, scratching Abbey behind the ears in greeting on her way to the kitchen to grab the napkins.

“How did this happen?” Louis stands and gestures between his mom and the football player currently searching through their drawers for the paper plates.

Jay glances at Harry over her shoulder before looking back at her son. “He texted me earlier and offered to buy us dinner.” She shrugs and turns to place the napkins in the middle of the table beside the boxes of food. “Would y’all mind finishing setting up? I need to change out of these scrubs.”

Once Jay has disappeared behind her bedroom door, Louis doesn’t think twice before pouncing on the football player. “Is this that thing that you were talking about earlier? The revenge?”

Harry frowns, still smiling smugly. “Revenge? What’re you on about, Tommo?”

Louis moves to the side to let the twins get past, the two girls fighting over who gets to grab the first slice of pizza. “You texted my mom.”

“How is that revenge?” Harry asks with a confused chuckle. Louis’ convinced that the confusion is only twenty-five percent real. “You said grand gesture—this is what I consider to be a grand gesture.”

It takes Louis a second or two to figure just what the hell Harry is talking about. When he does, he shakes his head in amazement. “You picked up my mom from work and bought us pizza just so she would let me go to the banquet with you.”

Harry shrugs, not even bothering to deny it. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“How did you even get her number?” Louis asks as he starts loading slices of pizza onto his plate.

“Eleanor had it.” He groans when he sees Lottie loading her plate with veggie pizza. “God, I _love_ veggie pizza.”

Lottie smiles smugly at Louis as she sits down. “See? I’m not the only one!”

“Okay that—this does not prove anything,” Louis argues, choosing to ignore the current issue at hand with Harry. “It still makes no sense for you to get a medium.”

“So, Harry just needs to come over every Thursday for dinner then,” Lottie retorts, as if that is an easier option than just _not ordering a damn medium sized pizza_.

Instead of taking Louis’ side and saying, yes, it makes more sense to just get a small, Harry nods with a satisfied grin. “That makes sense to me.”

“That actually makes no sense,” Daisy says with a mouth full of garlic mozzarella sticks and a spot of marinara sauce in the corner of her lip.

Louis ruffles the top of his little sister’s head, much to her distaste. “Thank god for you, Dais.”

-

Eating with Harry is not nearly as strange as Louis thought it would be. Without Harry, they’ll all laugh and everyone will give a rundown of their day, just basking in each other’s’ company and talking about anything and everything under the sun. None of that changes—Harry just joins in, making himself feel perfectly at home. The only difference now is the added conversation of football, questions about the game tomorrow night, about whether or not they’re going to win, especially considering how well Crandall’s been doing so far into the season, and so on. It’s a welcome change, Louis thinks. The girls love him, indulging in his jokes and not being afraid to tell them that they absolutely _suck_. Jay likes him too. Likes him more than she had the past two times she’s seen him.

By the time they’ve scarfed down every piece of food on the table, Louis’ convinced that he likes it better when Harry’s at the table with them, rather than without. But, he’s not about to tell Harry that. He’d rather die before giving him the satisfaction of knowing that his grand gesture—his boundary-crossing, scheming grand gesture—was a success.

“Well, Harry, thank you again for dinner.” Jay grins at Harry where he’s sat across from her, between Louis and Phoebe. “It was definitely a great surprise.”

Harry grins back so genuinely and rich that it makes Louis’ stomach hurt as if he’s scarfed down an entire chocolate cake. “Anytime, Ms. T. I should be thanking you for letting me barge in on your evening.”

“Oh, please, you didn’t barge in,” Jay argues. “You’re always welcome, Harry.”

Both Louis and Lottie roll their eyes, most likely for different reasons. Lottie for her hatred of small talk, and Louis because _of course_ the boy of his dreams would win over his mother in two hours flat. All it cost him was a meal from Rolling Tomato and good manners.

The breeze has picked up, making the air a comfortable cool as Louis and Harry wander into the backyard to let Abbey relieve herself. The sky has transitioned from a gentle blue to a bright orange, the moon visible just above the roof of the neighbors’ house. The glow of the setting sun reflects along the earth below, making each individual curl on Harry’s hair appear gold, framing his face like a crown.

Harry catches Louis staring. Harry also catches Louis tripping as he crosses from the kitchen onto the back porch. Of course he does. Not a day goes by where Louis isn’t making a complete and utter fool of himself in front of the football player. The phenomenon makes him think of the saying, “If a tree falls in the forest and no one’s around, does it still make a sound?” Except, instead of it being a tree falling, it’s “If Louis makes a fool of himself and Harry Styles isn’t around, did he really make a fool of himself?”

“Christ, let’s not break another limb,” Harry laughs, watching Louis steady himself with one hand against the sliding screen door. “You’re like a bull in a China shop, Tomlinson.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You just happen to be around every time I do something dumb.”

“I must be around an awful lot then.”

That earns the football player a flip of Louis’ middle finger. “It’s not my fault you can’t seem to stop stalking me.”

Louis stands beside Harry at the edge of the porch, watching Abbey Mae as she sniffs around the perimeter of the chain-link fence containing them and separating from the neighboring yards.

“It’s not my fault that you’re just so fun to stalk,” Harry retorts. “Stop being so damn entertaining.”

“That’s not exactly an insult,” Louis points out. He watches as Abbey starts sniffing his mom’s peonies. “You basically admitted to stalking me. I’m half prepared to call the cops on you, Styles.”

Harry looks at Louis out of the corner of his eye, just barely turning his head. He’s smiling, his dimple sunken deep into his cheek and the skin around the corner of his eye crinkling. “ _Stalking_ might be a bit of an exaggeration.” He shrugs. “I do like hanging around you, though.”

The comment catches Louis off guard. He doesn’t let Harry know that by doing something weird like gasping or swooning, obviously, but it stuns him all the same. It hadn’t occurred to him that Harry might enjoy Louis’ company as much as he enjoys being around the quarterback.

“Well, I’d hope so,” Louis says, his voice smooth and not nearly as choppy as he expected it to be. “You _did_ buy my family dinner just so my mom would let me go to your damn banquet.”

“No _just_ for the banquet,” Harry argues.

Louis raises a brow. “Really?”

Harry nods. “Really.” He doesn’t say anything; doesn’t explain what other ulterior motives he could’ve had. Instead, he takes Louis’ hand gingerly in his own and leads the boy to the wicker couch situated on the corner of the porch. They sit, Louis tucking his legs him, facing Harry, who sits with his legs crossed and one arm thrown over the back of the couch.

When Harry still doesn’t explain, Louis taps the football player’s chest with the back of his hand. “Spill, creep.”

“Spill what?”

Louis smacks Harry’s chest again. “Why else would you buy dinner if it wasn’t all for the banquet?”

“Oh, that.” Harry sighs and shrugs. He catches Louis’ hand as it threatens to whack him again. He doesn’t let go of it, his fingers wrapped around Louis’ wrist, settling their hands in his lap. “I don’t know. I wanted her to just _like_ me, I guess.”

“What?” Louis asks with a laugh. “You wanted my mom to like you?” Harry just nods, his eyes widening, as if his explanation was obvious, like _of course I wanted your mom to like me_. Louis just laughs harder. “Harry, why wouldn’t she already like you?”

“Um, maybe because the only times she’s seen me, I’ve been naked and you ended up grounded,” Harry explains, his eyes still wide and hand still wrapped around Louis’ wrist.

“For the record, you’ve never been naked,” Louis states firmly, placing his free hand on Harry’s knee. “And, if she didn’t like you before, then she definitely does now.”

Harry eyes the hand on his knee before looking back at Louis. His eyes are so green, Louis thinks, so wide and beautiful. It would make things way easier if Harry wasn’t as pretty as he is. “Thank god,” Harry mumbles, the words so quiet and only audible because of how close their faces are to each other.

Louis doesn’t realize how close they’ve drifted together until he registers the fact that he can feel Harry’s breathe against his face and the way Harry’s side radiates warmth through his and Louis’ clothes, pressing into Louis’ skin like a heated blanket. It’s not nearly as terrifying as it should be when Harry leans forward, pressing his forehead against Louis’ temple. Louis’ eyes don’t close, no matter how much they want to. But, they can’t—not when there’s a world of green digging into him, prying his eyes open like Louis’ a car wreck and Harry’s eyes are the jaws of life.

“I want to kiss you,” Harry whispers. It’s so quiet, even quieter than before, and Louis almost misses it. Wishes he missed it. Thankful that he didn’t.

Everything in Louis’ body screams _do it_ , _do it_. All that Louis can think of is how much he’s longed for this moment since they were both single at the end of their junior year and he realized that he finally had a chance with the quarterback. _The dream_.

Louis bites his lip, making Harry bite his lip. “Harry.”

“Louis.” His name is blunt and breathless coming from Harry’s mouth. It sounds resolved; without question.

“My mom is just in the kitchen,” Louis states softly, the words translating easily into _we shouldn’t, not here_.

Harry just nods, but doesn’t pull back from where his forehead presses against Louis’. “That’s not a no.”

Louis blinks. “No, it’s not.” His eyes move from Harry’s only when Abbey tromps up the porch steps and rests her chin on Harry’s knee beside Louis’ hand. He spares her a glance before looking back at Harry. “It’s a ‘no’ for right now, though.”

Instead of appearing disappointed or put off by being rejected, Harry looks happy, or satisfied. Louis would be put off himself if it wasn’t for the way Harry says, “Is that a promise?”

Louis chuckles. “You better beat Crandall for me tomorrow night.” He doesn’t say anything else on the matter. He just presses a small, barely-there kiss to the apple of Harry’s cheek before standing from the couch. He figures that’s enough of an answer for the football player. For now.

-

Saying goodbye to Harry at the end of the night is bittersweet, and not just for Louis. After coming inside with Abbey Mae, Jay had coerced them into watching TV with her and the rest of the girls. Much like dinner, watching TV with Harry and his family hadn’t been nearly as traumatic as Louis expected it to be. Harry indulges in Jay and Lottie’s love for Lifetime movies while Louis and the twins rolls their eyes, pointing out every inaccuracy they can find.

Jay sends Harry home with a _good luck tomorrow night, hun,_ and a Tupperware container full of leftover pizza slices and cinnamon sticks that Louis had been planning on eating later in the night, but he masks his frustration when Harry says that his mom absolutely _loves_ Rolling Tomato’s cinnamon dippers.

Like any good gentleman would, Louis volunteers to walk Harry to his car, ignoring the knowing looks that he receives from Lottie and Jay. Harry doesn’t. He never misses a damn thing, Louis’ come to find. The football player smirks and gives Abbey a rub behind her ear before following Louis out the door.

His truck is parked on the curb right in front of the house, looking like it belongs there. Maybe it will, someday. Maybe it does.

“Thanks, again,” Louis says, turning to face Harry, resting his back against the passenger side door of Harry’s truck. “For dinner. And for driving my mom home.”

Harry shakes his head. “My mom is going to invite y’all over for dinner now, you know.”

Louis raises a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Is she now?”

“She is.” The football player grins and takes a step forward. One more step, and they’d be chest to chest. Louis really wants him to take that one step. In more ways than one. “I have a feeling that your mom is gonna say yes.”

“Of course she will,” Louis scoffs with a grin. “My mama’s a respectable woman. There’s no way she’ll turn down dinner with an equally respectable woman.”

Harry chuckles and _finally, finally_ steps forward, their chests only millimeters apart. If Louis were to breathe out, puff out his chest, they’d be touching. “I have a question.”

“Of course you do,” Louis murmurs fondly. When all Harry does is raise his brows expectantly, Louis rolls his eyes. “Spit it out, QB. We don’t have all night. Unlike a certain meathead, I actually have a job I have to be at in the morning.”

“Yeah, alright, if you’d just shut up and let me speak,” Harry jokes, reaching out and pinching the skin exposed at Louis’ hip, just above the hem of his jeans.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” Louis laughs, swatting at Harry’s hand when it reaches out to pinch him again. “I’m ticklish, stop that.”

“You’re still talking.”

Louis slaps at Harry’s hand again. “You’re still tickling me.”

The football player holds his hands up in defeat. Louis instantly misses them—his hands, but doesn’t dare say anything like, _put your hands back on me_. Louis raises his brows, urging Harry to continue.

“I told you that I wanted to kiss you.”

Louis’ eyes widen, only slightly. He nods, shaken. “You did. That’s not a question though, QB.”

Harry smirks. “No, it’s not.” He clears his throat, managing to school his smirk into a more genuine smile. “That didn’t make things weird, right?”

“You telling me that you want to kiss me?” Harry nods. “No, it didn’t make things weird.” Louis sways forward on his heels, their chests bumping together so quickly that Louis barely even feels it. “Is that it? That’s all you wanna ask me?”

Harry shakes his head. “We’re friends, right?”

Louis frowns. “Um, yeah? I mean, that’d be awkward if we weren’t, seeing as I’ve thought of you as one since like, middle school.”

“No, yeah, we’re obviously _friends_ ,” Harry says, flustered. He shakes his head. “I mean, but what about, like…more than friends?”

_Whoop, there it is_.

“I don’t understand the question,” Louis plays, wanting to stretch this out for as long as he has to, wanting to hear Harry say _something_. _Anything_. Louis isn’t even sure what it is that he wants to hear Harry say, but he’s going to keep digging for it until he finds it. “Are you _asking_ if we’re more than friends?”

Harry shakes his head again. His hand reaches out, the tips of his fingers burning holes into Louis’ side, right through his t-shirt. “I’m asking if like, you’d ever _entertain_ the idea of us being more than friends. Friends who kiss. And stuff.”

Louis snorts and shakes his head. “Eloquent.” He reaches forward and twists a finger into the front of Harry’s shirt, the material thin, barely there. He doesn’t do anything—just rests his fist against Harry’s stomach. Just wants to touch him. “I think I might be able to entertain that idea.”

The football player nods, slowly. He licks his lips, the lips that Louis could have been kissing no more than two hours ago. His tongue leaves them pink and wet, shining under the light of the street light a few feet away from them. Harry grins and leans forward. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Louis repeats. He swallows and looks up at Harry, his chin tilting up, eyes wide and curious. He grins, relishing in the knowledge that Harry’s gaze keeps flicking from his lips to his eyes. “All the girls are gonna be awful jealous of me.”

“Why’s that?” Harry asks, his voice soft and intimate, way more intimate than Louis’ ever heard him speak before.

“Because the star of the football team wants to kiss me,” Louis states, admiring the way that the gold from the street light blends with the green in the football player’s eyes.

Harry snorts. “I’m pretty sure that, if anyone actually got jealous, it was when they saw me squatting with you on my shoulders.”

“Yeah, that’s never happening again.” Louis barks out a laugh. “Can’t risk breaking the other arm.”

“I wouldn’t drop you,” Harry practically whines, digging his fingers harder into Louis’ side, his palm sliding against the fabric of his shirt, his hand properly pressed against him. “You know that I wouldn’t drop you.”

Louis raises a challenging brow. “I don’t know; I think you have a thing for me making a fool of myself.”

“I wasn’t the one that put you in that tree. Or the one to puke on your shirt.” Harry retorts with a smirk. He leans forward, their hips _almost_ touching. “I feel like you’re just a natural at making a fool of yourself all on your own.”

“Wow, you sure know how to get lucky, Styles,” Louis says flatly, pressing himself against the passenger side of the truck, drawing himself a few inches away from Harry, only for the football player to move closer, getting rid of the space.

Harry tilts his chin down, spreading his legs so that he and Louis are more or less eye level. “Is this me getting lucky?”

Louis can feel a blush rising in his cheeks, turning the skin there a pink, he’s sure. He looks over Harry’s shoulder at the front of his house. The lights are still on inside and the girls, thankfully, aren’t peeking out from behind any of the blinds to watch them. At least, they aren’t _visibly_ watching them. He looks back at Harry and hums, shrugging his shoulders.

“Is that a no?” Harry asks. The conversation is all too similar to the one had only hours before on Louis’ back porch.

“Still not a no,” Louis states. He clears his throat and pats Harry’s stomach, resting his hand against his sternum. He can feel Harry’s heartbeat in his palm, the vibrations quick, rapid. All too similar to the beat of his own heart. “You’re lucky you’re good looking, Styles.”

Harry grins, acting surprised by the statement. “Louis Tomlinson thinks that I’m good looking?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “No, I think you’re ugly and I can’t stand being so close to someone who’s so ugly.”

“I knew it was too good to be true,” Harry sighs with a shake of his head. His eyes go downcast towards their feet, the tips of their shoes touching. “I guess I’ll just…go home and cry now.”

“Aw, poor QB-1.” Louis pouts, just managing to hold back a smirk. “Better grab some tissues on your way home.”

Harry opens his mouth but, before he can speak a word, they both hear Louis’ front door open, followed by, “Louis, let the poor boy go home! He’s got a game tomorrow!”

Perfect timing, Louis thinks. He shakes his head and, sure enough, when he looks over his shoulder, he spots his mom poking her head out the front door. She’s smiling, not looking nearly as irritated as she sounds.

Before Louis can apologize or simply just say goodnight, Harry says, “No for now?”

Louis nods and presses up onto his toes to kiss Harry right on his dimple. “For now.” Before he can settle flat on his feet, Harry is pressing his own lips against the skin just below Louis’ temple.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Harry says once they’ve finally pulled away.

“Yeah, tomorrow.” Louis watches as Harry wanders around the front of his truck, his hand sliding along Louis’ stomach as he goes. “I’ll make sure that Stan finds something suitable to wear before you pick him up.”

Harry rolls his eyes as he opens the driver’s side door. “You’re lucky you’re good looking, Tomlinson.”

Louis gasps, resting a hand on top of his heart. “Harry Styles, QB-1, thinks that I’m good looking?”

The last thing Louis sees before Harry pulls away from the curb is the football player’s arm stretching across the passenger seat to flip Louis off through the side window. He’s grinning ear to ear and mouths _tomorrow_ before driving away down the road. Louis stands there for a minute, watching the taillights of the truck drift into the distance until all that’s left is the imagine printed onto the backs of Louis’ eyelids when he blinks.

Jay is standing at the sink, sipping from a glass of water, when Louis finally goes back inside. She doesn’t say anything at first, just smiles knowingly and pinches his cheek when she passes by on the way to her room. When she finally does speak, she’s already at her bedroom door. “Get some sleep, baby. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”

Shit, Louis thinks. Boy does he ever.

-

“Is a sweater a good idea?” Louis holds up his light green sweater, a thin thing that his mom had gotten him for Easter dinner a few years ago. He had never gotten around to wearing, what with green ironically not being his color, but figures it may never be too late to break it out.

They’ve only got an hour before they’re meant to be at the banquet and Louis is the only one in the house who isn’t ready. Eleanor is done to the nines, dressed in her olive green, spaghetti strap sun dress and her fancy schmancy Lucchese cowboy boots, her hair wavy and flowing down her shoulders. The game ended with a Lions win, an exceptional 41 to 29 against Crandall. While any Lions win calls for celebration, this night is going to be particularly special, what with the banquet and all.

Eleanor hums, looking it over as she pops another apple slice between her lips. “Not bad. Where the hell did you get that?”

“Mama got it for me for Easter.” Louis places the sweater back on the rack with a sigh. “Harry was literally no help to me yesterday.”

“What did he say when you asked?”

Louis’ mouth twist in taste. “He just told me what Patrick wore last year.” He turns to look at Eleanor over his shoulder, managing a smile. “And I’m not wearing what Patrick wore.”

“Do you even own green?” Eleanor asks with a laugh. She stands from the foot of Louis’ bed and wanders over to his closer. She thumbs through some of his nicer options, the things reserved strictly for Sundays and big Tomlinson family dinners. “I swear, you’re the least spirited person I know. How do you live in Wyatt and not own any green?”

“It’s not my color.” The boy shakes his head and drops his hands against his thighs in frustration. “God, why did I even agree to go with him? I’m in way over my head with this one.”

Louis doesn’t even need to see Eleanor to know that she’s rolling her eyes. She pulls out a few other shirts from Louis’ closet and lies them down on the side of his bed. “Shut the fuck up. He literally bought the clan dinner.”

“Yeah,” Louis sighs happily. “He did.” He looks over the shirts that Eleanor’s set out for him. His eyes stop on a yellow long sleeve shirt that he had received from his Nan ages ago, the shirt probably meant to be worn during family dinners when Louis would see her, but truth be told, he hasn’t thought about the shirt since the day he unwrapped it. He holds it up against his chest and turns to El. “Thoughts?”

She grins and nods. “That would look so cute with those chinos I pulled out.”

Louis scoffs. “Not the white ones. I don’t want to look like some suburban dad who gets fucked by the gardener on the low.”

“I was going for more of a WAG look,” Eleanor sniffs. She unfolds the khaki colored chinos and holds them against Louis’ waist, under the yellow long sleeve. “I like the yellow, it’ll stand out against all the damn green. And, it’ll look _great_ with the blue arm.”

“Fuck off,” Louis jokes with a laugh.

Unlike normal functions where one has a date, Louis and Harry aren’t actually meant to show up to the banquet _together_. The football team arrives as a pack, along with the coaching staff and the mayor. It’s a huge ceremonial entrance, like the Olympics or something. All of the other guests are meant to get there about ten minutes before the actual players, which Louis doesn’t necessarily mind, as it means he has more time to relax and unclench before he has to come face to face with the same boy who told him that he wanted to kiss him the night before. _Twice_.

Louis drives in with his mom, Eleanor, and Dani, all of them dressed respectively in their green and yellow, jammed into Jay’s truck with the AC blasting so that the humidity doesn’t fuck up Dani’s hair. They’re all gorgeous, in their green summer dresses and boots, reminding Louis of summers on the lake with homemade iced tea and bee stings.

When they park outside of _Maura’s Tap_ , Louis fixes his hair one more time in the mirror, hoping that Dani didn’t overdo it with the wax. He gives the girls a glance in the mirror and sighs before turning to his mom. She looks gorgeous, Louis thinks. Out of her usual jeans or scrubs, Jay’s thrown on one of her floral dresses and heeled sandals, her hair tied back and rolling down her shoulders in caramel waves.

“Y’all ready?” Jay asks as she looks through her bag, pulling out a tube of lipstick and smudging it over her lips. “I hope they haven’t run out of the cheese and crackers. I always like to hide some away in my bag for Ms. Abbey Mae for later.”

The party is in full swing by the time they walk through the open doors of the restaurant. Everyone is mingling on the floor or dancing to the music played by the live band. Louis can recognize the lead singer as one of the soccer players that graduated a year or two ago and the guitarist as one of the guys that had tried (and failed) to steal Zayn’s heart in their junior year. They’re playing some country song about summer love that makes Louis want to slow dance and kiss someone on a hilltop during sunset.

Jay leaves the kids to socialize, finding her way over to that doctor from work that she’s been flirting with who’s behind the table of appetizers and finger foods. Louis sticks to a few of the guys he knows that graduated the year before, most of them from the soccer team. He finds himself craving one of those caprese skewers, but forgets about them once the live band’s music comes to a halt and the sound of trumpets and cheers blasts through the speakers circled around the room.

Just as he’s turning to look over his shoulder, there’s a sea of green and gold bursting through the front doors, all of the guys tall and sure, like warriors or soldiers. Louis has never been one to feed into this god-complex that the entire town has bestowed upon the Wyatt Lions, but now, watching the players all walk in as if they’ve just won a great battle, Louis finds himself feeling awfully mesmerized.

Liam and Niall right behind Nelson, Dixon, and the rest of the coaches, the runningback and fullback leading the pack with courageous smiles and fists waving in the air. The scene only plays out for literally twenty seconds before the players and staff disperse to find their families and dates, but it feels like it takes a lifetime, like some award-winning film, or the ending scene of some cult-classic, the faces of the players, all shiny and confident, fading to black.

Niall and Shim find Louis and Eleanor before Harry does, the quarterback being pulled away by some boosters and Lions fans that just _need_ to talk to him about his performance the night before, or they are just _bustin’ at the seams_ to find out whether or not he’s going to be committing for next year anytime soon. He looks good from a distance though, dressed in his tight green polo and pressed trousers, falling down his thin, toned legs like water or paint. He’s a sight, Louis thinks.

“Hey, finally,” Eleanor laughs as she gives Niall and Shim squeezes around the neck. “It was getting awful boring around here with all the old people.

The music starts up again, loud and more welcoming to Louis’ ears than the trumpets. “Y’all been here long?” Niall asks. He snatches two of the glasses from a waiter’s tray passing by. He hands one to Dani, who just grins and takes a sip.

“We got here just five minutes ago.” Louis looks over his shoulder, hopefully subtly, finding Harry still stuck between the local hairstylist and one of the boosters that just won’t shut up.

“Lookin’ for someone?” the runningback asks with a smirk, flicking Louis in the cheek to get his attention.

Louis whacks Niall upside the head with a roll of his eyes. “Yeah, Amelia, your date,” he covers up. Apparently, subtly still isn’t his strong suit. “Did you not ask her?”

“No, I asked her,” Niall sighs. He takes another long sip from his drink, as if he’s wishing it was a Bud Lite instead of Dr. Pepper. “She uh, she’s back with the Canadian.”

Eleanor frowns. “Canadian?”

Niall nods. “Yeah, the Canadian. Some asshole who moved here from Canada. He goes to Burr, plays on their dumbass baseball team.”

“Sorry to hear that, man,” Louis says sympathetically with a pat to Niall’s shoulder. “So, you’re going stag then?”

“Nah, I ended up just asking Flo.”

“And where’s she?” Dani asks with a raised brow, cup under his lip.

The football player just shrugs. “I think she’s over with the other rally girls. I don’t know.”

Before anyone can contribute to Niall’s pity party, Louis feels a finger pinch into his side. He turns to see who it was, only for Harry to pop up on his other side less than a second later. He jumps, embarrassingly enough, but thankfully no one seems to notice. But, Louis’ knows better than to assume that Harry’s missed something and, sure enough, the second Louis looks up, the first thing he sees is Harry’s annoying smirk.

“What’re y’all talking ‘bout?” the quarterback asks. He pushes a hand back through his hair, his fingers getting caught in the knots and leaving some strands hanging by his ears. _God_ , he’s pretty.

“The Canadian,” Shim says with a chuckle.

Harry snorts. “You’re still talking about the Canadian, thirteen?”

Niall rolls his eyes. “I’m allowed to be upset, assholes, fuck off.” He frowns and digs the toe of his boot into hardwood floor. “She left me for a _Canadian_ , man. A Canadian from _Burr_. Damn Burr.”

“Technically, he’s from Canada. Not Burr,” Louis points out. “But, I still get your point. Burr sucks.”

“You picked a good one, QB,” Niall says and, if he weren’t in his current funk, then he would definitely sound more amused than he does and his words would most likely have more of a dirty connotation than they do. “ _Fuck_ Burr. And fuck Canada.”

-

Harry continues to get pulled away throughout the night. All of the seniors do. Even some of the more gifted juniors like Jacob and Will and Adrian. Louis doesn’t mind, really. He has more fun when Harry’s by his side, poking fun at the stuffy looking politicians or boosters that keep crawling in and out.

Aside from what Zayn and Lottie and literally everyone else thinks, Louis doesn’t think that anything has really changed between him and Harry. Sure, they definitely spend more time together than they have in the past, and they might flirt a little more than usual, but other than those small little details, nothing has _really_ changed. At least, that’s what Louis keeps telling himself.

Around ten, as some of the players’ parents start heading on home with their younger kids and some of the older folk start filtering out, things start picking up. Louis even spots Anne talking with some of the other football-moms, a solo cup in hand. The players and staff start loosening up, Nelson even volunteering to sing a rendition of a Darius Rucker song while his wife slow dances with the previous lead singer of the band out on the floor. It starts to feel more comfortable, so much that Louis even sees his mom starting to dance and laugh with everyone.

“Sorry, I’ve been like, MIA the whole night.”

Louis’ talking with Liam and Sophia when Harry comes up behind him, one cup of Dr. Pepper in each hand. He hands one to Louis who takes one with a soft smile.

“It’s alright, Liam and Soph have been great dates so far. I’m thinking of replacing you.” He takes a sip of his drink, a twinkle in his eye. “He looks nicer in green, too.”

Harry scoffs. “Green clashes with my eyes, I know.” He smooths a hand down his chest, his State ring from last year catching on one of the buttons. “Should I call up Stan, ask if he’s still free?”

Louis nods sympathetically and pats the quarterback’s shoulder, despite the fact that green only makes Harry’s eyes appear greener than they actually are. “He’s already outside waiting, actually. The second I felt this whole ‘date’ thing goin’ South, I called him over.”

“He’s outside?” Louis nods. “Wanna come get him with me?” He holds out his hand, waving as he starts walking backwards towards the entrance.

“I’m only coming with you because, if you keep walking like that, you’re gonna slam right into someone.” Louis reaches out and takes Harry’s hand, letting the football player lead him through the crowded dancefloor to the door leading out to the parking lot. He waves a quick bye to Liam and Soph, the couple smirking as they watch the two wander outside.

It’s chillier out than it had been the last time Louis found himself alone outside with Harry Styles. It’s darker out, the moon hanging high above them and stars shining down like little lights hung on the ceiling.

Harry leans back against the wall beside the door, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his chinos. “I really am sorry for being MIA. It’s always so busy, with people asking questions and talking—”

“Hey, H, it’s fine,” Louis reassures the football player with a soft hand to his chest. “I get it; I know how it can get, especially this time of year.” He shrugs. “We’ve all got to share, right?”

“Yeah, but sharing’s no fun,” Harry all but whines, but still smiling. Always smiling, like the trained little media star that he is. “I hate all the talking.”

Louis tilts his head and takes a step closer to Harry. He pouts. “Hate talking? Should I leave then? Head out? I’ve been told that I can be quite the talker.”

Harry rolls his eyes lazily, his smile stretching wide across his face. “You just want to hear me say that I like talking to you.”

“How dare you accuse me of being sneaky.” Louis reaches to pinch at Harry’s nipple, only for the taller boy to stop him, wrapping a hand around Louis’ fingers. “You’re a terrible person, Harry Styles. You have this place fooled.”

“I like talking to you.”

The words slide out from between Harry’s lips with little to no struggle at all. Louis clears his throat and nods. He reaches out again, managing to pinch Harry’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, causing Harry to cry out and squeal like a little girl.

“Christ, Louis—”

“Good game, by the way,” Louis interrupts with a smile.

Harry glances up from where he’s massaging his nipple, glaring at the shorter boy in front of him. “You’re a menace. And, thank you. It was a pretty good game.” He sighs. “Can we like, not talk about football, though?”

Louis nods again, quitting with the banter and smiling softly. “No football. Surprisingly, I can do that.”

Harry grins. “I’m happy to hear that.”

After a brief silence, Louis clears his throat. “Your uh, your mom called my mom. She invited us to dinner for tomorrow night.”

“She did.” Harry smiles smugly. “Was I right, or was I right?”

“You were right, Styles, you were right.” Louis laughs with a roll of his eyes. “Would you like a prize or somethin’?”

Harry shrugs, still smiling smugly. The bastard. The smug little bastard. “You know.”

Louis scoffs, eyes crinkling in the corner, giving away the smile he so wanted to keep hidden, not wanting to give the football player any satisfaction. “Humor me then.”

“Humor you?” Harry chuckles. “You want me to humor you.”

“Yeah, humor me.” Louis grins, thinking about how good it feels to know that it’s finally his turn to be the smug bastard. “How on earth can I reward you, Harry Styles, QB-1, for being right for the first time in your life?”

Harry clears his throat, the sound so exaggerated that Louis can’t help but laugh. He leans forward so that his back isn’t against the wall, his chest now pressed against Louis’. “Louis Tomlinson, the greatest rally boy in all of Texas—”

“I’m not even your rally boy—”

“Let me finish,” Harry laughs, pinching Louis’ hip and letting his finger stay tied through the smaller boy’s belt loop. Louis nods, allowing the boy to finish. “Thank you. So, anyways, back to what I was saying. As my prize for being right— _not_ for the first time, thank you very much—I would really love a kiss.”

Louis sighs, crossing his arms over his chest with a laugh creeping out through the corners of his lips. “And that’s all? Just a kiss?”

Harry nods, schooling his face into some innocent pout. It’s the most unconvincing thing that Louis’ ever seen, especially coming from Harry.

In some parallel universe, Louis lifts up onto his toes, cups Harry’s neck and connects their lips. In this same parallel universe, Harry grips Louis’ waist, his hand wrapping around him and holding his back, making him feel so small, as if he’s actually delicate, as if he’ll break, fall apart, if Harry isn’t holding him so close, so tight. In this universe, it’s a moment made for the movies. Harry’s mouth tastes like cinnamon gum and that deep cherry taste from Dr. Pepper, his tongue soft and so controlling, making Louis pliant in his arms. It’s one of those kisses that takes your breath away, both literally and figuratively.

Parallel universe aside—In reality, Louis lifts up onto his toes, cups Harry’s neck in one hand and his hip with the other, and allows his lips to drag across the football player’s cheek as they make their way to his ear, where Louis whispers, “Let’s go inside, QB.”

Harry just sighs and shakes his head. Louis can feel the boy’s pulse thrumming against his palm from where his hand rests against Harry’s neck. The football player laughs, the sound shaky and the feeling of his breath hot as he slides down Louis’ cheek and neck.

“Is it all about the chase?” Harry asks. It’s honest, so honest, coming from Harry’s mouth. There’s a hint of humor, a hint amusement. And this _rawness_ that makes Louis’ chest hurt.

Louis pulls back, letting his rest touch the skin of Harry’s cheek before he’s pulling away from the boy entirely, their chests just barely touching. “It’s always about the chase.” He grabs Harry’s hand from where it rests on his hip, squeezing it as he says, “C’mon, let’s go inside.”

Despite having not been kissed, Harry follows Louis back into the restaurant. The entire team and coaching staff are still milling around, dancing and drinking, having a proper Wyatt celebration. Louis can spot Eleanor laughing with Shim and Landon over by the bar while Dani’s dancing with some of the guys and their dates out on the floor, Jayden pressed up tightly behind her with an arm around her waist. Liam and Sophia are tied together by the bathroom, faces close together and arms around each other, looking far too intimate for the public eye. Not in the sense that it’s inappropriate, but in the sense that it’s private, a moment meant for only the two of them. Louis blushes when he spots them, instantly turning and steering Harry towards the dance floor.

“Where’d you two run off to?” Dani asks as Louis and Harry walk over.

Harry grins, giving some high fives to a few of the guys. “We were just talking. Heads out of the gutter, y’all.”

Louis rolls his eyes as Ritchie and Greg start whistling. Before he can come up with a reply, the upbeat Wilson Pickett is replaced by some sweet and smooth Thomas Rhett song that Louis recognizes from Lottie playing it all the time. He looks up and Harry and smiles. “Are you gonna dance with me?”

“This isn’t part of the chase,” Harry points out. He takes Louis’ hand and tugs him forward until their chests collide and he can wrap an arm around Louis’ waist.

Louis doesn’t say anything, just rests his head against Harry’s shoulder and squeezes the football player’s hand.

-

Work on the next morning consists mostly of the older folk coming in from church. Everyone else has gone next door to _Maura’s_ to watch the latest on Lions Watch on channel six. They’ve even got it playing above the counter with the captions on, for those that would rather have a coffee than a beer while watching. Across the street, Louis can see probably every male above the age of thirty crammed into the small bar, sharing pitchers of beer and huge plates of chicken fried steak with Bobby’s famous gravy while still in their Sunday’s best. Most of the Lions alums are crammed right in with them too, right alongside the Lions’ current stars, all shouting at Hank Jennings as he goes on and on about how this year’s defense is only half of what last year’s was.

So, when Gemma Styles walks in with Mike Mlynowski on her tail, Louis has to do a double take. Gemma looks almost nothing like how she used to, her long brown hair cut short and bleached white and her face slimmed down, making her look older in such a glamorous and mature way. Mike, on the other hand, hasn’t really changed. He’s still attractive as ever and as muscular as he was when he was the star runningback of the Lions when Louis was only an itty-bitty freshman.

They end up sitting at one of Louis’ tables in the corner, of course, because where else would they sit. There’s no getting away from the Styles’, Louis reckons as he grabs two laminated menus and his pot of coffee.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he greets as he wanders over.

Gemma smiles, more genuinely than Louis was prepared for. “I should say the same to you! How’re you doing? It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”

Louis nods and hands them their menus. “I know, it’s sure been a minute, huh?” He raises the pot of coffee in his hand. “Can I pour y’all some coffee?”

They both nod and let Louis pour some coffee into the bowl sized mugs in front of them. “Are you doin’ good? Is senior year treating you alright?”

“Yeah—uh, yeah, it’s been pretty good.” Louis smiles and finishes off Mike’s mug, the coffee steaming where it settles. “How about you two? Y’all still living in California?”

Mike nods and lifts his mug in thanks before taking a sip, surely burning his tongue. “San Francisco, baby.” He tugs at the front of his shirt, USF emblazoned on the front. “Still sportin’ the green and yellow.”

“Yeah, go Dons.” He rests his free hand on his hip. With him, Mia, Juan, and Miguel all on shift, and the slow flow of business, Louis figures that he can waste a few more minutes talking to his current company. “What brings you back to little ole’ Wyatt?”

“We’re just here for the week,” Gemma replies. “We wanted to see one of Harry’s games before Mike starts getting too busy to travel.”

“Well, that’s really nice of you guys. I’m sure he’s excited that you’re home.” Louis’ memories of Gemma are brief, only knowing her from her days on the girls’ soccer team and the times that she would buy Harry beer their freshman year when Harry first joined the team. Only QB-2 at the time, Harry thought he was _so cool_ for having a sister that bought him booze. Thought of himself as the football plug, despite the fact that half the team don’t get carded and can get their own shit.

“Y’know, Harry mentioned that the two of you have been hanging out a lot since school started.” There’s a knowing look in her eyes. It creeps Louis out almost, considering how identical her eyes are to Harry’s. It’s as if he’s talking to the quarterback himself, rather than his twenty-one-year-old sister.

“Yeah, I mean, we’ve been…hanging out,” Louis says nervously.

_Harry has been talking to Gemma about him._

“He’s having a hell of a season so far,” Mike adds, thankfully taking some of the attention off of Louis. “They’re already saying he’s gonna be starting at UT and they’re only, what, three or four games in?”

“They say that, yet Harry hasn’t even been recruited yet.” Gemma snorts and turns to look up at Louis. “They talk about him like he’s some celebrity or somethin’, like he’s not a total geek that stays up watching Fixer Upper or Barefoot Contessa.”

Louis laughs. “Yeah, he’s a lot goofier than they talk him up to be.” He nods his head towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna get back to work. I’ll be back in a bit to take your order. It was good to see you guys.”

Back behind the counter, Louis can see Miguel giving him a knowing look. The linebacker happens to be one of Harry’s oldest friends, the two of them even going back to the days before Harry had even moved to Wyatt. They’re not as close as they used to be, not as close as Harry is to Liam now, but Louis figures that it’s one of those friendships that, no matter how long you go without talking or seeing each other, you’ll always be close.

“What’s the look for?” Louis asks as he sets the pot down on the hot plate.

“Nothin’.” Miguel just shrugs and finishes wiping down the counter. “How’s Gem?”

Louis shrugs right back and grabs another batch of menus for a group that just walked in and sat at one of his tables. “She’s good, I guess. Still living in Cali. She’s here to see your QB play on Friday.”

“Yeah, I think she surprised him last night,” Miguel tells him. “It’s been a while since she’s been home.”

Louis doesn’t realize that this means he’ll be having dinner with, not just Harry’s parents, but also Gemma and Mike. And who knows who else, now that Louis thinks about it. For all Louis knows, Harry’s whole entire family might show up, considering it’s a Sunday dinner and all. Hell, Louis wouldn’t even be surprised is Grandpa Len showed up.

But, Louis doesn’t let himself dwell. It’s not as if he doesn’t have an entire clan to back him up throughout the night. God knows that Lottie will warm up to Gemma quickly, as will the twins. And Jay and Anne have known each other for ages, ever since Anne moved in all those years ago. So, all in all, the only person that Louis has to worry about is Harry. And Harry’s dad. But, not really Harry’s dad—just Harry. Not _even_ Harry. Louis doesn’t even understand why it is that he’s starting to worry about Harry. He’s known Harry for years, he’s been good friends with him for the better half of his life. But, now, after Harry’s voiced his desire to kiss Louis, Louis suddenly finds himself getting all nervous whenever he thinks about the boy.

This realization—of the kissing and nerves—freaks Louis out. It freaks him out more than he thought it would. So much that, during his break, he ends up phoning Liam, of all people, who’s surely over at _Maura’s_ , to sort out all of his thoughts.

“You’re freaking out,” Liam laughs after Louis’ gone over everything that’s been running through his head for the past week. “It’s literally _just_ Harry.”

Louis rolls his eyes, continuing to pace back and forth in front of the back of the building by the dumpsters. “Liam, you need to be honest with me, okay? Like, I get that you two are teammates and blood brothers, or whatever the hell it is that y’all are, but you need to be so honest with me right now.”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Lou, Christ,” Liam says, the fullback still laughing.

“Okay,” Louis breathes out. “Does Harry like me? Like, are we… _talking_ , or something? I mean, it’s only been a month that we’ve been flirting, I guess, but I still have no idea what it is that’s going on between us.”

Liam doesn’t say anything for a moment. He’s not laughing anymore, not making a sound. It makes Louis ten times more anxious than he already was.

“Liam.”

“You’re so dumb, Louis, I swear to god—”

“What’s wrong with you?” Louis whines, kicking his shoe against the wall. “Why would you say that? You know that I’m freaking out—”

“Louis, the kid has had a damn crush on you since the eighth grade,” the football player all but shouts. “Do you know how excited he got when he realized over the summer that the both of you were single at the same time? Ever since the night that you guys almost hooked up at Kelly Pierce’s house, H wouldn’t shut up about how hot you were.”

Liam keeps talking, going on and on about how Harry has always thought Louis was _so smokin’ hot_ and how they’ve always _just_ missed each other, Harry dating Heaven, then breaking up with her just in time for Louis to start going out with JD, and then the cycle repeating with Patrick and Santiago. Louis just listens, mouth open wide for the flies.

“Lou? You there?”

Louis clears his throat and nods. “Oh uh, yeah, sorry, yeah, I’m here.” He checks his watch, noting that he only has a few minutes until his break’s over. “No. No, I didn’t know any of that stuff.”

Liam snorts. “Well, I guess that’s kind of a good thing. I think I’m one of the only people that knows. Not even Zayn and Niall know about it. Honestly, I probably shouldn’t’ve even said anything, but I figured you knowing is easier than him just makin’ a fool of himself trying to woo you.”

“So.” Louis frowns, taking a deep breath. “Harry likes me.”

“Uh, yeah,” Liam chuckles. “And you like him?”

“I mean, _yeah_ ,” Louis replies, still frowning. “But, what does he want from me? Does he just want to hook up with me? Or date me? Like, what’s he trying to get out of this?”

Liam hesitates. “That’s something you’d have to ask him, I think.”

“Right, yeah, that makes sense,” Louis mumbles. “Okay uh, thanks, Liam, I appreciate you breaking your weird football code of brotherly secrecy or whatever for my wellbeing.”

“Only for you, Tommo,” Liam laughs before they say their goodbyes and hang up.

Throughout the remainder of his shift, Louis tries not to other-think his conversation with Liam. When the clock strikes four and Louis is out the door on his way to his car, he’s still not overthinking anything. Even when he’s driving down the road, passing posters with Harry’s face on them plastered along walls and listening to Harry Shriver go on and on about Harry’s flawless record and how he’s going to drill Grant Irving into the ground come Friday night, Louis doesn’t over-think anything.

He doesn’t start overthinking until his mom is coming home from work talking about how she’s got to hurry up and cook up some biscuits and gravy before they head on over to the Styles’.

For some reason, the first thing that Louis finds himself doing is locking himself in his room and calling up the quarterback himself.

“Wow, is this the real Louis Tomlinson calling me, live and in person?” Harry answers, the smirk evident in his voice.

Louis can’t help roll his eyes. Just like that, not even five seconds after Harry’s answered the phone, and all of that weight is rolling off his shoulders like a barrel down a hill. Just from hearing Harry’s voice, and the stress just eases away. It’s a scary thought, but Louis welcomes it nonetheless.

“The one and only.” Louis laughs. “Is this the real, one and only Harry Styles, starting quarterback of the Wyatt Lions, live and in person?” Louis asks, deepening his voice to sound something like Hank Jennings.

“Nah, this is the other Harry Styles.” The football player chuckles and says, “What’s up, Lou? Didn’t you just get off work?”

“Just got home, yeah.” He sets his phone on speaker as he starts changing out of his uniform, the black polo clinging uncomfortably to his skin. “What about you, what’re you up to?”

Harry grunts on the other end. “I’m just out back, throwin’ the ball around.” He pauses. “Gemma said that she saw you when her and Mike went to eat.”

“Mhm, I served them,” Louis states. He wanders over to his closet, leaving his phone on the foot of his bed. “Miguel said that she surprised you last night.” He picks one of his Lions t-shirts from the floor of his closet, yanking it on over his head.

“Yeah, after I got home from the banquet.” Louis can hear Harry grunt again. He imagines him gripping the football, his arm winding back, bicep tense and tough, before releasing the ball, his body swinging around, twisting forward. “It’s so fucked, Lou. My parents knew and everything! Gem had called them up like, _months_ ago to plan this whole damn thing. God, when I walked through the door and saw her sitting there, it was like she had never left. I swear, I lifted her off the ground so quick that I thought she would fly right out of my hands.”

Louis lets Harry talk about his night and his sister while he picks out an outfit for the night. He goes on to explain how Gemma had planned on hiding in his room, wanting to scare him, but thought against it, opting to just sit on the couch and act as if nothing was out of place. Louis inserts responses when the time comes but, for the most part, he just listens to Harry, finding the sound of his voice to be calming, like white noise, as he plans out what on earth he’s going to wear.

“Anyways, sorry for ranting,” Harry chuckles. “That was probably annoying.”

“Oh my god, it wasn’t annoying,” Louis argues with a laugh. “Sometimes, believe it or not, I like hearing you talk.”

Harry gasps. “Wow, I never thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth.” He grunts again, followed by a sharp intact of breath. “Fuck.”

Louis frowns. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” He sighs, frustrated. “I just threw the ball too hard; broke one of the—I have this thing that has a tire in the middle, right? It helps me like, aim when I throw the ball and stuff, like a target, and I threw the ball too hard and ended up breaking one of the ropes that was holdin’ the tire.”

“That sounds like a ‘ _you’_ problem,” Louis says with a grin. “Hey, what’re you wearing tonight? For dinner?”

“What’s with you and your wardrobe issues?” Harry laughs, sounding slightly out of breath. “First the banquet, now dinner. It’s as if you’re trying to impress me or something.”

Louis scoffs. “That last person that I’m tryin’ to impress is you, Styles.” He shakes his head and bends down in front of his drawers to looks for a pair of pants. “Seriously, though. I was thinking of wearing something like I did on Friday night. Does that sound okay?”

“You looked awful nice Friday night,” Harry says, his voice thick and slow, yet sweet like syrup. “Yellow looks good on you.” He smirks. “It looked really nice with the blue of your cast.”

“Are you hitting on me?” Louis asks flatly, hoping he doesn’t sound as pleased as he feels. He also ignores the fact that Harry still hasn’t answered his question. He also elects to ignore the jab at his cast.

“Of course I am.” He doesn’t even sound embarrassed about it, is the thing. “And those pants you wore look _real_ nice.”

Louis rolls his eyes, thankful that Harry can’t see the flush burning hot on his cheeks. “Is this the part where I hit on you in return?”

“You don’t _have_ to,” Harry replies, the smirk evident in his voice. “It might boost my self-esteem, though.”

“You mean your ego? Isn’t that big enough?”

“Fuck off, my ego is normal sized, thank you very much.” The football player grunts, the sound muffled as if the phone is buried between his shoulder and his ear. “What do you want _me_ to wear tonight?”

Louis pauses, a pair of khakis in one hand and his nice blue jeans in the other. He shakes his head and grabs his phone from where it’s sat on his bed, turning it off speaker and pressing it to his ear. “Harry, are you trying to ‘ _sext’_ with me?”

Harry cracks up at that, the sound like cliché music to Louis’ ears. “Don’t we have to be like, texting to sext?”

“I don’t know,” Louis laughs with a shake of his head. “Why the hell do you want me to pick out what you’re gonna wear at a dinner at your own home? Because, if you just want to hear me talk about how hot you are, then it’s gonna take a lot more than—”

“You think I’m hot?”

“No, you’re ugly,” Louis says flatly. “I’m hanging up now.”

“That’s not what you said back—”

Louis hangs up with a smirk before he can hear what Harry was about to say, despite already knowing full well what was about to come out of his mouth. It’s not more than two seconds later that Harry’s face is popping back up, a FaceTime request unmoving from his screen. With a sigh, Louis slides his thumb across the screen, accepting the request.

He’s greeted by the image of a shirtless, sweaty quarterback with his hair all curled and wet against his forehead. Louis can only see the boy from the lower half of his chest and up, but it’s enough for Louis feel as if he needs to sit down. It reminds him of their afternoon in the weight room—Harry’s muscled all hard and swollen, puffing out of his skin like hot rocks swelling beneath his skin.

The staring on Louis’ part must not be as subtle as he’d like, because Harry just starts laughing.

“How ugly am I, on a scale from one to ten?” Harry asks with a smirk. Louis’ pretty sure that, at this point, the boy’s just flexing to make himself appear bigger.

“An eleven.” Louis shakes his head and brings his phone with him to lie back on his bed, clothes forgotten at the foot of his bed. He _should_ be getting ready to shower right about now, but the way the sun lights up Harry’s face is way more of a priority at the moment.

Harry shakes his head, feigning disappointment. He leans down, assumedly grabbing the football from where it had landed by the tire target. “I didn’t call you to get insulted. I can just call Zayn for that.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you to call me,” Louis points out with a chuckle.

“You called me first, though,” Harry reminds the boy. Louis can see him walking through his back door and going down the hall towards his room. “Hey, I have to tell you a secret.”

Louis frowns and rolls over onto his side, the side of his face pressed into his pillow. “Shoot, QB.”

Harry doesn’t say anything until he’s closed the door behind him and is laying down on his bed. “I can’t wait to see you later.”

The conversation that Louis had had with Liam is suddenly red hot in his mind, branded on his brain as if his brain is a cow and the conversation is a hot iron. _Louis, the kid has had a damn crush on you since the eighth grade._

“That’s not like, a secret, Styles. And since when did you become such a flirt?”

“It _is_ a secret,” Harry argues, much like the twins do when Jay accuses them of only taking Abbey outside for five minutes instead of ten. “Only the two of us know.”

Louis rolls his eyes and fucking _giggles_ “Okay, fine, it’s a secret. You can’t wait to see me.”

“Also, for the record, I’m not really a ‘flirt’,” Harry states, using air quotes with his free hand when saying the word ‘flirt’. “I just like flirting with _you_.”

“Why?” Louis asks, pretending that he isn’t flattered and itching to get out of bed to jump for joy. “Why d’you like flirting with little ole’ me?”

Harry snorts, as if Louis had asked a question as stupid as _is the sky blue_? “Uh, because…I just like to? What kind of a question is that?”

Louis rolls his eyes again. “It’s a fair question. Why do you like flirting with me, H?”

The humor and amusement dims only slightly on Harry’s face, replaced by a more serious stare. He shrugs, shifting his head on his pillow. At first, Louis’ almost afraid that Harry’s gotten offended or put off by the question. Then, Louis realizes that it is a look of distaste. It’s a look of bashfulness.

“Oh my god,” Louis laughs. “Are you embarrassed?” When Harry just smiles nervously and shrugs, Louis shakes his head in amazement. “You are _not_ embarrassed, Styles. After all that talk, you’re suddenly getting shy on me?”

“You make me shy sometimes,” Harry retorts with a nervous laugh.

Louis’ never seen the boy so nervous. He’s always depicted as this big, tough football player _warrior_ with no fear and no second thoughts. On the field, Harry’s always so focused, so confident. Louis almost forgets that the boy’s human sometimes. It’s moments like these, watching Harry squirm nervously, that remind Louis that, underneath all that bravado, Harry’s just a seventeen-year-old kid trying to pass Latin.

“It’s just me,” Louis reminds the football player. “You don’t need to be nervous. Just talk to me, yeah?”

Harry nods with a small smile. “Pretty people make me nervous.” There’s a hint of that familiar mischievous grin that Louis’ grown to love peeking out, Harry’s dimple prominent in his cheek.

“See, that’s the Harry Styles I know and love.” Louis grins and fixes the hem of his t-shirt, the material tugging uncomfortably on the skin of his neck. As the fabric pillows around his chest, Louis notices Harry’s eyes drifting down to his collarbones. “C’mon, tell me why you flirt with me. It’ll help my ego.”

“You really wanna know?” Harry asks.

Louis nods. “I ain’t bugging you for no reason. Spill, Styles. Feed the ego.”

“Well.” Harry takes a deep breath, his eyes wide and bright. “For starters, I think that I’ve made it clear that I think you’re _real_ pretty.” Louis just rolls his eyes bashfully and urges the football player to continue with a nod of his head. “Whenever I flirt with you, you get all like…I don’t know. You make me chase you, kind of.”

“You like the chase?” Louis asks, already knowing full well that Harry practically _lives_ for the chase.

The football player just hums. “I like how you don’t just tell me what I want to hear. Everyone’s always telling me what I wanna hear, always wanting to please me or something.” He shrugs, his smile subtle. “I like the chase. I like chasing _you_.”

Louis just stares at Harry, unsure of what to say. He’s had boys ‘chase’ him before, not to sound cocky or anything. It took Santiago almost two months before Louis actually agreed to go on a date with him. Not because Louis enjoys being chased, but because he’s always reluctant to just jump right into a relationship. He likes to get to know the person first, to see how well they mesh together and go together as a pair. He likes to know if it’ll last before it’s even started.

Except, he _knows_ how he is with Harry. They’ve been friends for years, have interacted enough for Louis to have an idea of how they would be together, considering how much he’s thought about it over the course of the past few years. He catches himself wondering if Harry thinks about how they would be as a couple. Maybe he does. After hearing what Liam had to say, Louis _hopes_ that Harry does.

“Well, you better catch up,” Louis says slowly. “I’m a fast runner.”

“That’s another thing that I like,” Harry states. “You make me work.”

Louis snorts. “Coach makes you work. Do you flirt with him?”

Harry sighs, feigning sadness. “I’ve tried, but he always shuts me down. He’s just too much man for me, I guess.”

“Oh, and I’m the right amount of man?” Louis asks with a sharp laugh.

Unsurprisingly, the football player nods, completely serious. “You’re the _perfect_ amount of man for me.”

Louis can see the blush rising up his chest to his cheeks before he feels it, his skin heating up on the screen of his phone all for Harry to see. That’s when it starts feeling too intimate, when Louis starts feeling like he’s starting to feel so much— _too_ much; too much too soon. There’s Harry, exposing himself both literally and metaphorically—lying in bed shirtless and telling Louis these _things_ that just feel so raw and honest as they slip off of his tongue. He’s still sweaty from throwing the ball, his skin visibly hot and swollen in all of the right places. Then, add on the nice words and the way his eyes keep drifting from Louis’ chest to his lips to his eyes—it’s a lot. Add on all of the words that Louis is just _dying_ to literally _scream_ , the words pounding inside of his chest—it’s a lot. Too much.

“Okay,” Louis breathes out, the sound obviously strained. Harry can probably feel how dry Louis’ mouth is, can probably see how turned on he is. God, Louis’ never felt so exposed. “I think we both need to shower.”

He realizes the mistake in his words when he sees Harry’s eyes widen, the light green exploding under his lashes and his already flushed skin darkening.

“To get clean.” Louis quickly corrects himself. “You look gross and sweaty; you need to shower.”

Harry only looks disappointed for a split second after Louis shuts down the idea that he was suggesting he needs a cold shower. “I’ve always got you to knock me down a few pegs.”

Louis grins, his lower lip pouting out just slightly. “Can’t let your head get too big, can I?” He clears his throat and sits up. “But, seriously, we need to hang up so we can start getting ready. What kind of impression am I making if I show up late?”

“As if my mom hasn’t met you a million times already,” Harry points out with a roll of his eyes. “And there’s no way in hell that your mom would let you show up late.”

“You don’t know my mom, she’s the most unpunctual person I know,” Louis laughs as he stands and grabs his towel from the back of his desk chair. “But, you’re right, Anne loves me. I could show up in my gym clothes and she’d still love me.”

Harry just rolls his eyes and watches as Louis walks across the hall from his bedroom to the bathroom. “Wait, are you seriously about to shower right now?”

Louis frowns. “Um, yeah?”

“I thought you were joking.” The football player pouts, his brows pulled together in a way that shouldn’t be nearly as endearing as it is. “Can you bring me in the shower with you?”

The suggestion has Louis close to choking and keeling over on the floor. He notices just how much his eyes have widened in the corner of his screen, but doesn’t care enough to be embarrassed by just how shocked he is at Harry’s forwardness. He says as much, claiming how he didn’t realize that Harry had it in him to be so forward. It’s a lie, of course—Louis fully acknowledges the fact that Harry can be _very_ forward. Rewind to Thursday night

The quarterback just rolls his eyes and flips Louis off and watches as the boy turns on the shower. “I’ll see you for dinner then, party-pooper.”

“Have fun crying me a river,” Louis laughs before hanging up, just catching the sight of Harry winking as the screens fades to black and back to his call history with the football player.

-

The first thing Louis notices is how rural Harry’s house is. Sure, their whole town could be described as rural, but Harry’s house resembles more of something out of a greener and newer version of _Silverado_ than _Remember the Titans,_ like the rest of Wyatt. It’s a ranch house, appropriately so, as way off to the right of the driveway is a fenced in plot of land that’s probably the size of Louis’ own house three times over. He can see a barn and some cows mulling around within the fenced-in area, spread across the land in small clusters. In the front yard, there’s a green sign saying _STYLES – QUARTER BACK – 57_ in big, yellow letters right in the middle of the grass. Harry’s truck is parked out front while a brown Honda is parked closer to the side of the house. Jay parks behind Harry’s truck and surveys the house before twisting the key in the ignition, killing the engine.

Jay turns around in her seat as all the kids start to unbuckle. “Best behavior, alright? And make sure you’re all carrying something inside.”

The kids all do as told and follow Jay to the back of the car, Louis being left with a bouquet of tulips that Jay demanded they bring for who knows what reason.

They make a single file line to the door, Louis picking up the rear and Jay at the front.

Harry answers the door, dressed in a nice, light green button down and blue jeans, the green of the shirt making his eyes appear bright—almost florescent. His hair is loose around his face and a few buttons are undone, revealing his tantalizing collarbones. It’s obscene in the most appropriate way, if you can imagine how could possibly be.

“Hey, Ms. T,” he greets, kissing Jay’s cheek and waving to the other girls, tousling the hair on Daisy and Phoebe’s heads as they pass. Louis notices Harry’s wandering eyes, but doesn’t think too much into it. Louis’ eyesight has always been questionable. “Come on in, my mom’s in the kitchen finishing up.”

As they make their way inside, the twins pushing and shoving a bit to determine who goes in first, Louis finds himself losing his breath a little. Harry never fails to look incredible. Even when he’s sweaty and gross after a session at the gym or an hour of throwing the ball around his yard, he makes Louis wonder how someone so beautiful ended up in such a small town. So, when Harry actually cleans up and dresses like a human being versus a football star meathead, Louis _really_ starts to question how someone like Harry Styles ended up in Wyatt instead of somewhere glamorous like Los Angeles or New York City.

When they see each other eye to eye, they blush simultaneously. “Hello, again,” Harry says. “How was the shower?”

Louis rolls his eyes, any nerves that he had once had rolling off his back like water “It was fantastic, very hygienic.” He mindlessly hands Harry the flowers. “These are for you. Or, your mom, I guess.”

Harry chuckles and takes them, their fingers touching momentarily and Louis swears he feels sparks. “You can come inside too, you know.”

Louis rolls his eyes warmly and swats Harry’s shoulder as he walks in. Just like the outside, the inside is wide and flat. They all walk into the entry hall, which appears to also second as the living room, judging by the couches and TV set up in the corner. It’s warm, Louis notices, in a way that a grandma’s house would feel, or in the way your own home feels after being away on vacation for too long. There are family pictures, portraits and newspaper clippings lining the walls, all in the same black frames, most revolving around Harry.

“Cute,” he comments as they pass a portrait of a young Harry and his peewee football team, proud of the blush that rises on Harry’s cheeks.

In the kitchen, Lottie’s already made herself at home beside Gemma at the kitchen table, Mike taking over the rest of the cooking while Anne pours Jay and herself a glass of wine.

“Harry said you’re a rally-boy? How did that workout?” Gemma asks, flipping her pale colored hair over her shoulder.

Louis nods and shares a small, pursed smile with a blushing, grinning Harry. The thought of Harry talking to his sister about him is flattering, even if it is about him being a rally-boy. “Yeah, that wasn’t entirely voluntary.”

Gemma laughs. “I can imagine. So, you have to do the whole locker and baking thing?”

“I already did the locker thing,” Louis snorts, getting flashbacks of smeared sharpie and girls with tattoos. “That was…horrendous.”

The football player laughs. “Horrendous? You didn’t tell me it was bad?”

Louis proceeds to explain the whole sharpie debacle and, at the end of the story, shows them the picture of the finished locker that he had done for Zayn.

“It’s a beauty,” Gemma says with a grin similar to a grin Louis’ seen on Harry numerous times in the past few days. “A true artist. I like this particular pair of breasts.” She points to the picture on Louis’ phone. “Very intricately done.”

“I quite like the hairy balls,” Harry adds.

Gemma snorts. “You would.” To which Harry flips her the finger, not unseen by Anne, who whacks him upside the head.

“Why don’t you two boys go set the table while the girls go out to help with the cows,” Anne suggests in a way that Jay would suggest Louis go walk the dog after arguing with her over who’s better; Darius Rucker solo or Hootie and the Blowfish. Long story short, it’s more an order than a suggestion.

“Right,” Harry mumbles, standing from the table to grab plates from the cabinets. “You wanna get forks and stuff?” he asks Louis, looking at him over his shoulder. “They’re in the drawer next to the dishwasher.”

Louis nods and grabs nine forks and knives, as well as napkins, and follows Harry into the dining room. There’s already placemats set around the table, all patterned with fall leaves on a pale, coral background. Even in the dining room, there are pictures lining the walls. The biggest one is of what looks like a young Anne with a little girl by her side and a baby boy in her arms. They’re standing in front of a big row of palm trees, the sun behind them casting shadows along their shoulders and faces.

“Is that you?” Louis asks, pointing at the baby in the picture. “Little baby QB.”

Harry nods, just barely stifling a groan. “Unfortunately. Don’t pay too much attention to those. Puberty hadn’t hit yet in most ‘em.”

“Where was this one taken?”

“Daytona, a few miles from our house, I think,” Harry replies, setting the last plate at the end of the table.

“I thought you lived in Dallas before moving to Wyatt?”

The football player smiles lopsidedly, crossing his arms comfortably over his chest. “I did. But, I was born in Daytona.”

 “That’s the place with NASCAR, right?”

Harry laughs. “That’s the one.”

Louis places the forks and knives down, opting to start off by folding and placing the napkins. “Which place do you prefer? Wyatt, Dallas, or Daytona?”

“That’s tough,” Harry hums. “I can’t say Daytona, since we moved to Dallas when I was four. It’s bigger there, plus our apartment was only a few blocks from AT&T. But, here I have friends, football, and…y’know, everything else.”

“Did you not have friends in Dallas?” Louis asks with a chuckle, placing a napkin on each mat.

Harry shakes his head. “I did, smartass. But, I still think I like Wyatt best.”

Louis sighs as he finishes with the napkins and moves onto the silverware. Harry finishes with the plates and moves onto the glasses. “I’ve never lived anywhere _but_ Wyatt. I’m kind of jealous of you.”

“You’ve got yourself a good life here, though.”

“Yeah, I do,” Louis replies. “It’s just…annoying. The farthest I’ve been was Arizona when I was seven.”

Their conversation is cut short when the rest of the household walks into the dining room. The twins both have dirt all over their jeans and a bit of grass in their hair.

Somehow, Louis ends up between Gemma and Harry once more as they all sit down. He’s not complaining—if anything, he wishes that Harry would scoot a bit closer.

A pan of breaded macaroni and cheese is placed in front of them, along with potatoes, Jay’s biscuits, gravy, and steamed broccoli with garlic. Anne pours some wine, asking Jay before pouring some into Louis’ glass, while the younger girls have iced tea.

As Louis had predicted, the conversation circulates around school, football, and other town gossip. Jay and Anne swap stories that they’ve overheard from either the store or waiting in line at Bucc-ee’s to pay for gas. Jay asks Harry about football and colleges, to which Harry politely answers, talking about not being too committed to any offers and truly believing that this season will be a good one. His words sound big and polite, as if he was having an interview with Hank Jennings on channel six.

Anne speaks up after a while, lips and cheeks pink from the wine. “Now, Louis, what do you plan on doing for college? Looking into anywhere specific?”

“Um, I’m looking everywhere, kind of,” Louis replies. “Places _in_ Texas, places _out_ of Texas. I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

“Where out of Texas?” Anne asks curiously.

Louis spares a look at Jay before saying, “I’m really interested in Florida and California. San Diego is one of my top schools.”

“Oh, I like it. What do you want to major in?” Gemma pipes in, forking some mac n’ cheese into her mouth.

“Theater,” Louis states shyly. “But, I’m still deciding whether I’d want to minor in English or double major.”

Anne looks to Jay with a grin. “You’ve got a little star on your hands, Jay.”

Jay grins, throwing a wink in Louis’ direction. “I certainly do.” She takes a sip from her wine. “But, as much as I want him to able to go off to all of these places, I just get nervous thinking about him being over twenty miles away.”

“I’ve been thinking the same exact thing,” Anne says. “There’re all these places showing interest in him; Miami, Oklahoma, Alabama, Gainesville. But, I don’t know how comfortable I feel sending him off to some state that he’s never been to. It’s all about football—everyone forgets that he’s still a teenager.” She gives Harry a pointed, albeit fond look. “I had a hard enough time letting Gem head off to San Fran.”

Jay nods in understanding before turning to face the football player. “Now, I know that you said you’re not committing, Harry, but is there anywhere that you consider priority? Any top choices?”

Harry blushes beside Louis. “UT, probably. Maybe UF, if they’re interested.”

“Have you heard from them?”

“Not yet,” Harry replies.

“Coach Nelson said that, once the season really starts up, they’ll be at our doorstep in no time,” Anne adds. “We’ve only had three games so far, so it’s really too soon to tell.”

Once they’re done with dinner, Gemma helps the girls clear the table while Anne and Jay go into the kitchen to grab their desserts, leaving Harry and Louis by themselves.

“Quite the Spanish Inquisition,” Harry mumbles, finishing off his own glass of wine. The liquid stains his lips a light pink. The sight makes Louis’ mouth water.

Louis snorts. “We’re seniors. And you’re a football star. What do you expect?”

Harry smiles and wipes his bottom lip with his thumb. “Want to go outside? Because, trust me, my mom is dying to ask you about your private life, especially after last night. I’m surprised that she hasn’t yet, honestly.”

As much as Louis is dying for a slice of his mom’s pie and Anne’s strawberry shortcake that he had seen in the fridge, he really _doesn’t_ want to discuss any past, present, or future relationships. Or talk about his potential relationship with Harry. So, he nods and follows Harry out the back door in the kitchen.

The air outside is cool, similar to the night of the bonfire after the first game against East Lake. Everything seems big, Louis thinks, whether it be the huge field or the sky above them, the stars extraordinarily clear. As he thinks about big things, his mind wanders to that morning after the bonfire, Harry lying on the bed with a small case of either morning wood or a big case of cock. Louis holds back a groan—of all times to be horny, his brain decides that _now_ is the best time?

Those thoughts fly (somewhat) out the window as Harry holds out his hand, somehow already on the other side of the fence separating the cows from the yard. “One of the planks is a bit tricky, I don’t want you breaking yet another limb.”

Louis rolls his eyes at the broken limb comment and gratefully takes Harry’s hand before attempting to scale the rickety fence. Sure enough, the third plank of wood twists as soon as Louis’ foot puts any weight on it. Louis manages to keep his balance, both with the help Harry, as well as his right hand that’s white knuckled around one of the posts holding the fence together.

“Thanks,” Louis breathes out once he’s flat on his feet beside Harry on the other side of the fence. “What a gentleman.”

“Yeah, I am _quite_ the gentleman,” Harry laughs, shoulder bumping into Louis’ as they start walking in the direction of the barn.

“You are,” Louis argues. He gets in front of Harry and faces him, walking backwards. “You’re a proper Disney prince or something.”

“Am I?”

Louis nods. “You’ve got the eyes, the smile, the dimples, the long, flowing hair—you’ve even got the voice.”

Harry raises a brow. “Voice? There’s a voice requirement to be a Disney prince?”

“Absolutely,” Louis states seriously. “And you make the cut, QB.” Louis feels his back run into something, nearly knocking the wind out of him. “Christ.” He turns his head, seeing the wall of the barn behind him. “You couldn’t have warned me about the building coming up behind me?”

“To be honest, I wasn’t really paying attention to what was behind you,” Harry admits.

Louis feels his cheeks heat up. “Oh?”

The football player nods.

“So, what _were_ you paying attention to?”

“What do you think?”

_Me_ , Louis thinks. _At least, I_ hope _you were paying attention to me._

“I don’t know, that why I asked you,” Louis retorts. “Keep up, Styles.”

Harry rolls his eyes with a laugh before planting both his palms on either side of Louis’ head. Louis can feel the side of Harry’s thumb rest against the shell of his right ear. “I’m not the fastest learner.”

“Hm, so I’ve been told,” Louis mumbles, trying his best to keep his eyes off Harry’s lips. It’s quite the feat. “How’s that Latin going, by the way?”

“Not so good,” Harry sighs, smile slowly growing into a smirk. “A tutor is definitely needed.”

“Ah, I see,” Louis hums. He places the majority of his weight against the barn and hooks his fingers through Harry’s belt loops. This brings Harry just a bit closer. _Ambitious move_ , he thinks to himself. “If only I knew Latin.”

The quarterback nods. “Right, you’re in French. Shame.”

“Vous sentez comme le pain et les pommes de terre,” Louis whispers with a smirk. He can feel his breath hit Harry’s face and repel back to his own. He hopes it’s more endearing than it feels.

Harry’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink and his teeth gently sink into his bottom lip. “Okay, I’m not gonna lie, that sounded really hot.”

Louis snorts. “Did it?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out. “What did it mean?”

Louis licks his lip and raises his brow. He leans forward, the tip of his nose barely touching Harry’s. “You smell like bread and potatoes.”

Thankfully, Harry steps back before he bursts out laughing, hands moving from beside Louis’ head to cover his face. It takes him a moment to compose himself, Louis still chuckling against the wall.

“And here I thought this was the part where you seduce me in French and we gallop away into the sunset,” Harry argues with a grin, arms crossed over his chest. The position does wonders for his arms, truly.

“Gallop?” Louis asks with a laugh. “What, am I suddenly fluent in French while you’ve grown hooves?”

“No, on a horse,” Harry retorts, cheeks turning from pink to red. “We’d, like, be on a horse. I’d still have my legs.” He runs a hand over his face, fingers hiding his smile. “I obviously didn’t phrase that very well.”

Louis lifts his hand and removes Harry’s from his face, revealing his beautiful smile. He laces their fingers together, his free hand stuffed in his own back pocket.

“I think you’d look great with horse legs,” Louis states with a squeeze to Harry’s hand.

“That’s the first time I’ve received that compliment,” Harry points out. The tips of their toes are touching, breaths mingling together between them. Louis’ hands are cool—clammy where his fingers press against Harry’s. Suddenly, he’s so aware of their close proximity, realizing just how similar this moment is to when they were on Louis’ porch, or when Louis was sending Harry on his way home after dinner Thursday night. If he were to fall forward, not even a step, their lips would touch. Louis imagines that Harry would be a good kisser. With lips like his, all plump and always moist—never chapped—it’d be a travesty if he _weren’t_ a good kisser.

Harry removes one of his hands from where it’s pressed against the wall of the barn in favor of cupping the shorter boy’s cheek. His hand is soft, warm, tender; all the things Louis figured they would be, along with that added roughness from years of handling footballs and weights.

“Did you know I had a crush on you in fifth grade?” Harry asks, out of the blue. “When I first moved here?”

Louis smiles and shakes his head, gently, as to not move the hand cupping his cheek. “I wasn’t aware, no.”

“I was, like, crazy about you,” Harry continues. “You know, on Valentine’s Day, when we used to bring in all those little valentines with candy and put them in each other’s little brown paper bags?”

Louis nods, urging for Harry to continue. “In fifth grade, I wrote you a note. And, instead of giving you little like, sweet tarts or something, I gave you three things of fun dip.”

For some reason, Louis feels bad for not remembering this. Who could forget receiving three bags on fun dip? And a note, _god_ , Louis doesn’t remember a note.

“What did you write in the note?” Louis asks, solely out of curiosity.

Harry hums, the hand interlocked with Louis’ moving to hold the boy’s hip. “ _Dear Louis, you have the bluest eyes I have ever seen. Your skin is as golden as the sun and your laugh reminds me of fairy bells_.”

Instead of laughing or calling Harry’s fifth grade-self pathetic, Louis finds himself blushing, eyes bashfully training down at where the tips of Louis’ sneakers meet Harry’s boots. He shakes his head fondly. “You did _not_ write that. You aren’t that eloquent, even now.”

“Really?” Harry laughs. “After what I just told you, you insult me? After I admit to spilling my heart out to you?”

Louis nods, looking up see Harry’s bright smile. “I’m calling bullshit, Styles. I don’t remember a note. _Or_ three things of fun dip.”

“I’m offended,” Harry replies. “First, you say I smell like bread and potatoes. Now, you don’t remember the note I wrote you—the note I poured my young, innocent heart and soul into. If fifth grade-me was here now, he’d be heartbroken.”

Wind whistles across the field, pulling Harry closer to Louis, crowding the boy further into the wall of the barn. They’re so close, pressed so tightly together that Louis can feel how warm Harry is. He thinks that, if he were to sneak his hands under the fabric of Harry’s button down, to press his palms against the flat planes of Harry’s stomach, he could feel the warmth radiating from the football player’s body like a heater.

Louis manages a grin. “I still call bullshit on the note.”

Harry appears affronted, only for a moment, before he’s bursting out laughing, wine thick and sweet on his breath. “Yeah, okay, it’s bullshit.” Louis gasps and raises a fist to punch Harry in the arm, only for the quarterback to intercept, engulfing Louis’ fist in his own. The action makes Louis weak at the knees. “ _But_ , for the record, I _did_ give you three bags of fun dip.”

“God, you’ve been a gentleman right from the start, haven’t you?” Louis takes a deep breath, pushing his cheek into Harry’s palm. “Did you want to kiss me then, too? Was the fun dip your less-blunt way of telling me?”

The question clearly catches Harry off guard, the football player’s hand stilling from where it rests against Louis’ face and the other tightening against his hip. His lips roll against each other, his tongue coating them with a light layer of moisture, making them appear that much pinker and softer. Louis wants to kiss him, wants to wrap his arms around the boy’s shoulders and pull him forward until they’re pressed together, head to toe.

Harry shrugs, his thumb running lightly along the delicate skin below Louis’ eye. “I know that I definitely wanted to like, hold your hand during recess and sit next to you at lunch.” He grins and shrugs again. “But, yeah, I basically wanted to kiss you.” He bites his lip before saying, “I still do.”

Any normal person would just go with their gut and launch up, kiss Harry until they literally can’t breathe and, even then, they wouldn’t stop. Louis wouldn’t want to stop. But, Louis doesn’t like going too fast. At least, not all the time. Everything with Harry has gone slow. The lengthy crush through the majority of their high school careers, the flirting, the lungful gazes at the football player from across the field as he makes an award-worthy pass. Even Harry as a person is slow. The way he talks, the way he walks. The way his eyes slowly drift from the blue of Louis’ eyes to the pink of his lips. When Louis puts all of the pieces together in his head, everything in his body screams _go slow, slow_.

Louis bites his lip, watching how Harry watches him, his gaze so intense that, if it were anyone _but_ Harry, Louis would feel the need to curl up into his shell. But, it _is_ Harry. “What about the chase?”

Harry scoffs, moving the hand that had been on Louis’ hip to cup his other cheek, holding his face so delicately, yet so surely. “Fuck the chase.”

“ _Fuck the chase_ , oh my god you’re so dra—” Louis doesn’t have a chance to finish as Harry’s mouth collides with his own. Just as Louis had suspected, Harry’s lips are soft and wet in a way that _isn’t_ absolutely disgusting. It’s a gentle kiss, tentative, Harry move slow, as always, as if he’s asking for Louis’ permission to keep going, to do _more_. And, god, Louis wants more.

Louis’ hands reach out to Harry’s waist, his fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, like he’s trying to dig through the cotton to get to the football player’s skin. The kiss stays slow and sweet, an appropriate first kiss, Louis thinks, but he wants more. He knows how intense Harry can be, how passionate he is as a person and how _much_ he can give. Louis wants that, wants to feel that fire.

When it becomes evident that, while Harry can be blunt and an all-around go-getter, it’s obvious he won’t be the one to turn this kiss into something more than a few small moves of their lips and tilts of the head. As Louis opens his mouth wider, sighs against Harry and inches his fingers underneath Harry’s shirt where it’s gone untucked, the cast making the moment more difficult, more humorous than it would be otherwise. The football player’s hands drag from Louis’ cheeks to the back of his head, holding him there, delicately, as if he’s a fucking treasure. That’s when Harry gets enthusiastic, as their mouths start moving against each other at a pace that Louis had been practically aching for since before their lips even touched.

There’s a moment when Harry’s hands move from the nape of his neck, down his back, to his waist. It’s just like Louis had envisioned. Better, even. Harry’s hands hold Louis’ waist firmly, pulling his lower body away from the barn wall until they’re flush against each other, from head to toe, his hands practically screaming _never let go, I’ll never let go_. That’s when Louis hears it, a whine, a sound of total and pure desperation. It takes him a moment to realize that the noise had come from him. He should be embarrassed. Embarrassed that it only takes a kiss for him to become so vulnerable, to open himself up, raw and pliant. But, he’s doesn’t feel embarrassed. He feels _happy_ in the most naïve, innocent way. He feels as if this is the first kiss to end all other first kisses. It’s probably a bit much for a first kiss, in all honesty, but Louis doesn’t find it in himself to care.

There’s a grin on Harry’s face when they pull away, the grin so goofy and _Harry_ that Louis can’t help but burst into a fit of giggles. He presses his face into the football player’s shoulder to muffle the sounds coming out of his mouth. This only makes Harry start laughing, his arms still wrapped tightly around Louis’ waist. Once Louis’ gotten most of his giggles out and manages to take a few breaths, still a bit winded from that kiss, he lifts his head from Harry’s shoulder. They’re still pressed so tightly to one another that, when Louis glances upwards, he’s met with Harry’s nostrils. He doesn’t move away, though. He can live with staring up Harry’s nose if it means that they can stay pressed together for just a little while longer.

“Nice nostrils,” Louis finds himself saying, his voice hushed in a whisper, nearly lost among the soft winds whirling around them.

Harry’s still grinning as he takes a tiny step back, only for Louis to dig his fingers into the fabric covering the football player’s chest to pull him back.

“No, that doesn’t mean you move away,” Louis states once their back chest to chest.

A smug smile takes over Harry’s face as he presses their foreheads together. “You like me.”

Louis digs his nails into Harry’s stomach. Instead of answering and giving Harry the satisfaction, he leans up to touch his lips Harry one more time. Now that’s had a taste of what it’s like to kiss Harry, he knows that he’ll never get enough, especially if Harry is going to look like this—cheeks flushed and lips wet and swollen—every single time they kiss.

Harry is more confident this time, not waiting for Louis to take the lead as his hands sneak under Louis’ shirt to feel the dip of his waist and the curve of his ribcage. His mouth opens wider than it had before, allowing Louis to taste the remnants of wine and something like cinnamon on his tongue. This kiss is reversed, Louis thinks; starting off quickly, all wandering hands and maybe too much tongue, and then slowing down until all Louis wants to do is stayed pressed against the barn, pliant, while Harry kisses him numb.

When they break apart, Harry pulls away enough that they’re face to face, his hand still under Louis shirt and hot against his skin, the fabric riding up over Harry’s arm. The football player’s brows are raised expectantly, a crease formed on his forehead that Louis wants to smooth out with his thumb. He does, cupping the side of Harry’s face as he does so.

“I like you,” Louis says as his thumb swipes slowly across Harry’s forehead. “I like kissing you.”

Harry chuckles and nods. “I like kissing you too.” He leans down and presses a chaste kiss to Louis’ mouth, as if to prove his words. “I like kissing you against my barn.”

Louis laughs, the sound too loud and sharp for their current setting, stabbing right through whatever intimate bubble had been growing around them. “That is single handedly one of the most redneck things you could possibly say, Harry. _I like kissing you against my barn_ , god.”

“I was trying to be like, romantic, or something,” he whines, his lip, still wet and red, pouting in a way that resembles Louis’ little sisters when Jay won’t let them have an extra cookie before bed.

“If that’s you being romantic, then don’t be,” Louis says with a grin. “You’ve probably used that line on a million girls, anyways.”

Harry scoffs. “Have not.” He smirks. “I _did_ have my first kiss here, though.”

Louis raises a brow, suddenly interested. When Harry doesn’t continue, doesn’t give any more detail, Louis rolls his eyes. “C’mon, spill, five-seven! Give me the dirty details. Who was the lucky sucker?”

“There was definitely nothing _dirty_ about it,” Harry chuckles shyly. “It was in eighth grade. Or, the summer before freshman year. Rosie Christensen, during one of my sister’s parties.”

“Rosie Christensen? Your upback’s older sister?” Louis asks, partly in shock and partly in amusement. Louis remembers Rosie, remembers her being this tall, lengthy basketball player with this curly red hair and legs about as long as Louis’ entire body. “How the hell did that end up happening? Wasn’t she a junior?”

“A sophomore going into junior year,” Harry corrects, as if that even means anything, as if that makes a difference. “Gemma was throwing a party and some of the football players had me take some shots—I don’t know how it really ended up happening, to be totally honest. But, somehow, we started talking and I let it slip that I’d never been kissed.”

Louis snorts. “So she took it upon herself to give it to you? To be your first kiss?”

It comes off way harsher than he had meant it to. Harry takes note of that and smirks. “What? Wish it had been you?”

“Um, no,” Louis laughs, aware of just how jealous he probably sounds. “You weren’t nearly as good looking freshman year as you are now.”

He doesn’t realize what he’s said until the words have left his mouth and Harry is grinning from ear to ear as if he’s been handpicked by Belichick and offered the job of starting quarterback for his upcoming season. Knowing Harry, he’d rather be drafted by the Dolphins than the Pats, but it’s still close to an offer that one struggles to refuse. Still has meaning. That’s what comes to mind as Louis absorbs Harry’s smile. It’s not smug, like they are when Louis calls Harry hot or feeds his ego in some way. It’s as if Harry’s suddenly “seeing the light”, despite how cliché that sounds. It’s as if he’s just now realizing that Louis’ into him.

So that’s why, when Harry doesn’t hit Louis back with some quip or flirty remark, and instead leans down to reconnect their lips for what feels like the millionth time tonight, Louis feels as if they’ve crossed some sort of bridge.

Gemma calls them out for their shenanigans as soon as they walk in the back door, eyeing their tangled hair, chapped lips, and flushed cheeks. Harry’s untucked shirt is also a big giveaway. Thankfully, she waits until Jay and Anne are sitting on the front porch with some more wine and the girls are back outside entertaining the cows.

“Was it against the barn? Are there gonna be stains that need to be covered up?” she jokes as Mike hands her another bottle of beer.

Harry scoffs. “Jeez, G, what kind of stains come out of making out?”

“Oh no, did mama forget to give you the sex talk?” She pouts, the expression all too similar to the look Louis sees on her brother. When Harry just rolls his eyes and pours himself a glass of water from the sink, Gemma just smirks and pats Louis on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Louis can help you figure it out.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry I didn't update last week, i didn't have any internet! but because of that, i'm going to be uploading two chapters! enjoy xx

The Lions absolutely _demolish_ Arlington, only to lose to Bishop Carter with a tragic score of 24 to 30 the following Friday. But, a 55 to 7 win against Addison ends up bringing them to the semi-finals for the first time since Louis’ sophomore year. That’s when crowds at work start slimming out, most of the football players heading straight from church to practice, still clad in their silky shirts and pressed trousers. Practices become longer, starting earlier and ending later. The rally girls become more serious, Louis finding that he begins spending more time learning to back Barefoot Contessa banana bread for Zayn than he spends actually hanging out with Zayn.

They don’t talk about it; the kissing, the hand-holding, the hour long phone calls late into the night when Harry should be sleeping before his 5AM practice, or the times Harry would pick Louis up from school when Jay has an early shift so that Louis doesn’t have to wake up earlier than he has to. They don’t talk about it. They don’t define it.

They also don’t talk about the piles of recruitment letters that Harry finds in his mailbox every afternoon. They don’t talk about the fact that Harry starts considering places like Ohio and Clemson and Washington, while Louis’ looking into places like Syracuse and Chicago. Louis helps Harry go through his letters, separating them by _no_ , _yes_ , and _maybe_. Harry helps Louis go through his applications, giving him advice on his essay, despite Harry having a worse grade in the class than Louis. But, they still don’t talk about it.

It’s so precarious, whatever _it_ is; Louis and Harry. It feels as if, the second one of them says, “What’re we doing?” everything will fall apart. Facts about the future will become too real and everything will crumble before they even had a chance to glue things together, before anything even had a chance to become concrete.

Everyone in the school has already labelled them as _a thing_. Louis can feel the stares as Harry walks him, hand in hand, to class every day during lunch and kisses his breath away before Louis can walk into the classroom. He doesn’t mind it. If anything, he likes it. He wants people to know that Harry is his for the taking. He knows that Harry likes it. During one of the earlier practices that Louis had been required to attend, Harry had playfully threatened Zayn, claiming that Louis was off limits, no matter how good his banana bread is. Zayn had just laughed and said, “His banana bread’s shit. He’d be better off grabbing me something from Whataburger.”

They’re leaning against the bed of Harry’s truck after his afternoon practice, Louis’ back pressed against the hard metal while Harry kisses him in a way that’s definitely too heated for a high school parking lot. Harry’s squeaky clean from his shower, dressed in basketball shorts and a soft, grey Lions sweatshirt. His skin is still pink and raw from being scrubbed, the smell of lilac and cologne filling Louis’ brain as his fingers tangle in the cross dangling around Harry’s neck.

Louis cuts it short once the concept of time hits him. He sighs as he separates their lips, pressing one more chaste kiss to Harry’s mouth before pulling away enough to look into his football player’s eyes. “So. You’re going to Louisiana on Wednesday.”

Nelson had received a phone call from Louisiana’s head coach two weeks before with a request to have Harry pay a visit, to sit in on some practices and maybe even join in with the team to see how he meshes. Nelson nearly said no, considering their game against Wheeler would be the night after Harry returned from Baton Rouge and Harry would be missing two practices but, it’s LSU, so of course Nelson doesn’t say no. He _can’t_ say no.

Harry nods, eyes widening in surprise, as if he had forgotten or didn’t realize that Louis knew about Louisiana. “Yeah, I am.”

“That’s in two days,” Louis mumbles softly, staring down at where his fingers play over Harry’s necklace, his thumbing rubbing over the front. “Have you packed?”

“I mean. Yeah.” He grins, tipping his head down in the way that Louis’ learned to mean that he wants a kiss. Louis stands his ground, though, and leans his head back with a raise of his brow. Harry just rolls his eyes fondly and sighs. “I’ve packed like, two shirts, I think. And some underwear.”

“A shirt and underwear?” Louis laughs. “That’s what you’re gonna wear? That’s how you plan to make an impression?”

Harry shrugs with a smirk. “I figured I’d let my skills do most of the talking.” He squeezes Louis’ hips, the tips of his fingers digging into the sliver of revealed skin where his t-shirt has ridden up.

It’s such a Harry response that Louis can’t help but grin, feeling his heart jump in his chest as a laugh rises in his throat. “Well, god knows that your talking won’t do the trick. Your voice is way to morbid.”

The quarterback presses a kiss to Louis’ temple, knowing that the boy isn’t done talking about this, isn’t ready to continue kissing just yet. “I thought my voice was Disney-Prince-approved? Were you lying to me, Louis Tomlinson? Are you a liar?” He presses another kiss to Louis’ forehead, keeping his lips against Louis’ skin for a beat longer.

“Yeah, Styles, I’m a liar.” Louis drops Harry’s cross, letting it bounce against his chest. “I’m actually not attracted to you at all and never want to kiss you again.”

His words come out soft and slow, so close to being seductive that Louis swears that he can hear Harry gulp, can see his Adams apple bob in his throat. Before he knows it, Harry’s tipping his head down again, lips so enticing, all red and bruised, still wet from Louis’ own mouth.

“Um, nuh uh, H, we’re not done talkin’,” Louis states playfully, pressing a finger to Harry’s lips. Christ, his lips are plush. “Please tell me you’re not depending on your mama to pack for you.”

The look on Harry’s face practically _screams_ of guilt. “I wasn’t—I mean, I’m gonna _help_ her, obviously—”

“Right, _obviously_.” Louis shakes his head, schooling his face into a look of exasperation. He only smiles once Harry’s face starts to fall, leaning up to kiss the pout off of him. “C’mon, don’t want to be late for dinner.”

As they’re loading into Harry’s truck, Louis can spot Liam and Sophia wandering over, Liam’s football bag slung over one shoulder and his backpack over the other. Liam waves, signaling for Harry to roll down his window. The quarterback does so, holding his fist out for a fist bump and grinning at Sophia.

“You almost ready for LSU?” Liam asks. He ignores the hand that Harry has resting on Louis’ thigh. Sophia doesn’t, though. She eyes Harry’s hand like she’s in the desert and his hand’s a glass of water, the smirk big and obvious on her face.

“I think so,” Harry says, ignoring Louis who’s shaking his head and pressing his hand in a shape of a gun to his own head. “I’ve still got to pack some more, but I’ve got my plane ticket and everything.” He pinches Louis’ thigh through his jeans, earning himself a slap to the back of his hand.

“I heard Coach Dixon talking about it to Coach Ferguson, how they almost had to beg Nelson to let you miss practice.” Liam grins. “Thinkin’ about becoming a tiger, five-seven?”

“Eh, maybe,” Harry says with a shrug. “I guess I’ll have to see what kind of play time I’d get and stuff. And, you know, everything else.”

Louis knows that Louisiana isn’t even in Harry’s top ten, besides being ranked above at least four of Harry’s top choices in the NCAAF rankings. Louis had helped him research after his second batch of recruitment letters, trying to figure out where he’d get the most playing time and where he’d be most valuable. Harry only thought to consider LSU because of its location and overall reputation. But, with Henrik, a junior, already being their starting QB and Benson, a sophomore, being their second stringer, Harry would get about as much playing time as a walk-on, only having a chance of starting during his senior year if they don’t find someone better in the time between then and now.

During the twenty-minute drive from the school to Harry’s, Louis pops open the playbook, going through plays and calls with the football player, quizzing him over the sound of some indie-rock CD that Harry’s been listening to lately.

Louis likes the drives to Harry’s house. It’s rare that he’s ever on this side of town, especially after JD moved all the way down to Port Arthur. Once JD was gone, Louis found that he never really had a reason to cross into the more rural side of town, nicknamed “the range”. Granted, Wyatt is arguably an all-around rural place, but the range is like something out of Idaho or Montana; all road with nothing but vast, open fields on either side. Houses are separated by about a quarter of a mile, the spaces mostly empty, aside from the occasional herd of horses or cattle.

When they pull into the dirt beside Harry’s house, the first thing Louis notices is the huge tractor trailer truck parked a few yards away. He frowns as he unbuckles and grabs his bag from where it rests against his legs on the ground.

Harry’s frowning too. It’s less out of confusion and more out what looks to be nerves. Or anxiety. Judging by the sudden rigidness in Harry’s body and the way he more or less stalks from the truck to his front door, Louis assumes that the presence of the tractor trailer truck is not a positive one.

Louis’ about five or so steps behind Harry and, when he walks into the football player’s kitchen, he finds him standing in front of the kitchen table, staring down at what appear to be scratch-off tickets. As Louis gets closer, he sees that they’re not the standard fifty-cent ones that they sell down at the gas station. They have to be at least thirty dollars, the tickets large with at least twenty chances at a win.

“Harry? Hon, is that you?” Anne shouts from down the hallway. When she rounds the corner, she’s dressed in an old Lions crewneck and jeans, a glass of iced tea in hand. She’s grinning, the expression obviously having been passed on to Harry. The smile spreads when she notices Louis behind her son. “Oh, Louis, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“What’s he doing home?” Harry asks before Louis even has a chance to say hello or to explain his unexpected presence.

The words come out in a tone that Louis has never heard come from Harry before, not even during practice or a game. It’s unfamiliar and immediately send chills down Louis’ spine—makes him want to wrap his arms around Harry’s waist and protect him from whoever ‘ _he’_ is.

Anne visible gulps, her free hand fidgeting with the hem of her crewneck. “He’s home for the week,” she explains slowly, as if she’s speaking to a frightened animal, trying to keep them calm. “He wants to see you play Friday.”

Harry shakes his head, his jaw clenched and fists hard at his sides. “I don’t want him at the game.”

Before Louis even has a chance to _wonder_ who the hell they’re talking about, a man resembling an older, less attractive Harry Styles rounds the corner. Louis doesn’t even have to ask; he can connect the dots and figure out that this man is Harry’s dad.

Louis excuses himself to Harry’s room before the yelling and arguing begins. He doesn’t want to invade Harry’s privacy by eavesdropping or something along those lines, but he can’t help but hear bits and pieces of the conversation.

“ _I haven’t seen you in…now you show up_?”

“ _Don’t be such a fucking brat_ …”

“— _Des, don’t push it_ —”

It takes about fifteen minutes for Harry to be walking into his room and slamming the door behind him. His face is red, not like he’s on the verge of tears, but like he’s so frustrated or angry that he could literally explode. Louis’ surprised that he doesn’t see steam blowing out of his ears.

On instinct, Louis puts down the calculus homework that he been trying (and failing) to finish and scoots to the foot of Harry’s bed. He doesn’t open up his arms or gather Harry into his hold right away. He’s seen Harry on the sidelines after a fucked up play or a bad call during a game. The quarterback likes to pace, likes to rant, likes to get out all of his anger and energy before letting someone calm him down.

And, that’s exactly what Harry starts to do; pace and rant.

Des is a truck driver—gone for months at a time and when he comes back, for only about four days at the most, he’s intense and spends most of his time at Maura’s drinking than he does catching up with his own family. Him and Anne separated a long time ago, before Harry had even moved to Wyatt, but he still winds up at their door step whenever he has nowhere else to go. And Anne still ends up giving the man sympathy and warm meals instead of doing what Harry thinks that they should do, which is kick him out on his ass and hope that he can sober up before he’s back on the road to wherever it is that he has to go.

The last time he had come back to Wyatt, way back in March, he had nearly broken Harry’s arm. It had been early in the morning and Des was coming back from who knows where, the man drunk and pounding on the front door like a mad man. When Harry had come to the front door and told him off, told him to sleep off the alcohol in his truck, Des had somehow managed to wrestle the football player to the ground, pinning Harry to the ground and threatening to _beat him so bad that no one would recognize their blessed quarterback._

Louis feels like he could cry as Harry continues to rant, explaining how he can’t be mad at his mom no matter how many times she lets Des back in, despite the drinking and the violence that was bound to follow.

“it’s just.” Harry takes a deep breath, the first breath in what feels like ten minutes. “They only divorced because the distance was too much, not because of the drinking. She blames him being an asshole on his job. She doesn’t see that, even if he were a fucking _car salesman_ or something that he’d still be a total dick. She just feels bad for him, makes excuses for him. I can’t be mad at her for it, though.”

Harry doesn’t say anything after that. He just sits beside Louis on the bed, his back hunched and elbows resting on his knees, fingers fidgeting. On instinct, Louis reaches out and starts rubbing circles into the spot between Harry’s shoulder blades. He can feel the knots that Harry’s definitely going to be complaining about to Dixon tomorrow, but he figures that now’s not the time to lecture the football player about posture.

“You can stay at my house,” Louis offers softly. He rakes his fingers through Harry’s curls, pushing them back from his forehead and down his back. “My mom will let you if I just explain a few things.”

“I don’t want to get you in trouble.” Harry shakes his head, turning to face Louis. “I’ll be okay, seriously. Don’t worry. He won’t bother me unless I tell him off or something.”

Louis doesn’t say anything but, knowing Harry, the football player wouldn’t hesitate to tell off his father. He doesn’t push the suggestion, though, just lets Harry know the offer is open before he goes in search of Harry’s nearly empty suitcase.

-

It’s half past four on Wednesday when Harry texts him. He’s been texting Louis throughout the day, letting him know when he’s landed and whatever else they have him doing.

_Practice was sooo intense_

_geaux tigers lmao  
it was good tho?_

_Yeah it was really good, I fit in perfectly with them_

_did u talk about playing time?_

Harry doesn’t text Louis back for another hour or so and Louis doesn’t see said text until the Tomlinson’s have eaten and loaded the dishwasher.

_Still wouldn’t be starting until junior or senior year_

_:/ not good  
when do u come back tomorrow?_

_Early in the morning_  
I wanna die im so beat  
and the team wants to take me out to dinner and then to some frat party or something

On the surface, Louis is genuinely happy that Harry’s having a good time and that he’s fitting in with the football team. Even if LSU isn’t his future home and the he’s not a future tiger, Louis’ still happy that, playing time and logistics aside, LSU is a place that Harry could envision himself calling home.

It’s scary, though. If Louisiana is this nice and the only thing stopping Harry from committing is playing time and logistics, then what’s to stop Harry from committing to other places? UT has yet to reach out, much to Harry and Anne’s dismay, but that hasn’t stopped places like Miami, Clemson, Michigan, or Virginia from approaching him and trying to reel him in. Christ, even the _Air Force_ sent a letter of interest, which Harry quickly turned down, but appreciated all the same.

In theory, Louis should be elated that such amazing schools are reaching out to his—to Harry. He should be so happy that someone he cares about has so many paths that’ll lead him to a bright future. However, in practice, it brings in anxiety and confusion. They only have a few months until State and, if they win, Harry will have every school in the country banging on his door, offering him the world in more. More than anything Louis could ever offer him.

Then, there’s the conversation of “defining their relationship”. Louis doesn’t even want to think about that.

Louis isn’t going to bring Harry down. Not now, not when the football player should be having the time of his life.

_take a shot for me :)_

Harry doesn’t text back until morning. Louis is fine.

-

Halloween is always a hit or miss in Wyatt, especially when they have a game only three days before the actual holiday. The year before, they had lost to Blue Hill the night before Halloween, meaning that, instead of dressing up and drinking to celebrate a Lions win, everyone either drank to numb the feeling of a loss or didn’t drink at all. Louis personally drank so that he could tone out the sound of Santiago and his friends going on and on about where they went wrong and how to improve for their next game.

Not to mention that, with this being their first game since going into semi-finals, there’s even more weighing in on this win. Louis can feel it. He can feel it in the tension of everyone’s shoulders, the lack of small talk throughout the bleachers—even in the way the blinding glow of the lights shines down on the field, shaking so subtly that you can only catch if you really concentrate.

For the first time since the Lions’ game against Granby back in December of last year, Louis’ down by the fence separating the crowd from the field. He’s stood between Stan and Dani, their fingers looped through the chains of the fence as they strain to hear Nelson relay the next play onto Harry. The view of the field isn’t as great as it is on the bleachers, but the experience is completely different. From their place at the fence, they can see each of the players as the come off the field or as they observe the action out under the lights with the rest of the crowd.

They’re winning against Wheeler with a score of 40 to 28. Louis knows that Nelson hadn’t planned on having to work this hard to stay ahead of the Saints.

“We beat them 51 to six last season,” Harry had said only hours before the start of the game. “This is gonna be a mercy game.”

Granted, the Lions had the lead from the first quarter, racking in thirteen points within the last five minutes and the Saints not making any touchdowns until they’re nearing the end of the second quarter. The only time the Lions weren’t coming in strong was when the Saints scored a seven-yard run in the beginning of the third quarter, bringing the score to 19 to 21

Louis can see the frustration practically radiating from Harry’s body. The quarterback keeps shaking his head and fidgeting with the yellow rubber bracelet stuck around his wrist. Ever since he got back from Louisiana the night before, Louis could tell that the boy was off, and not just from the game going on in front of them. He had texted Louis the second he got home at around 11pm, asking him to sneak over with an overnight bag.

Everything was fine. They were just changing out of their clothes, Louis hidden behind the door of Harry’s closet, when Louis asked, “So, am I gonna be screaming _go tigers_ anytime soon?”

It was as if Louis had flicked a switch. Harry was suddenly awkward and hesitant, answering Louis’ questions about his trip in short, one-word answers. Louis had just figured that he didn’t want to talk about it. So, Louis didn’t ask about it. But, even when they cut the football talk to a minimum and started making out on Harry’s twin bed, things weren’t like they had been before Louis had brought up LSU. Harry was still into it— _definitely_ into it, if the chub in his boxers was anything to go by—but it was like he was only half there, only half conscious of what he was doing.

Louis figured that Harry would be back to normal by the time they saw each other Friday during lunch. Despite the slight (or, not so slight) escalation in their relationship, they still sat at their own lunch tables, even though they basically shared the same large group of friends and could easily combine tables. This didn’t stop Harry from stopping to say hi on his way to grab another salad or to buy a bag of veggie chips to snack on during his next class. However, Harry never came by. Didn’t even turn to look over his shoulder to say hi. During his study hall, he had gone straight to the gym, not bothering to spend his first period with Louis like he normally would. He even failed to text Louis back after the boy had asked him if he wanted to go to Applebee’s or Maura’s after school and before Harry would have to be at school for the game. Louis blamed it on his pre-game nerves. Even as he stands, watching the game unfold, Louis still blames his behavior on the game.

He’s too afraid to blame it on the all too likely alternative.

Wheeler scores another seven points ten minutes into the third quarter, only for Wyatt to make a 2-yard run two minutes later and getting back in the lead with a 14-yard pass within the last fifty seconds of the quarter. The Lions end up winning 40 to 35. It almost doesn’t feel like a win, judging by the way Nelson is clearly forcing his smile as he shakes hands and the way Harry, as well as plenty of the other players, walks off the field with his head hung between his shoulders, chin tucked against his chest.

The only reason Louis ends up waiting outside of the field house for the quarterback is because Harry had texted him, no more than ten seconds after he had stalked inside, asking for Louis to wait for him.

Louis can see it on his face the second Harry spots him, his eyes wide with guilt written all over.

“Hey.”

Louis manages a smile, arms crossed over his chest. “Hey. Congrats on the win tonight.”

Harry clears his throat and adjusts the strings of his hoodie. “Thanks. It wasn’t one of our best games, but—”

“But, you won,” Louis interrupts, fighting the urge to lurch forward and kiss the pink of Harry’s cheeks. “So, be happy and celebrate, okay?”

“Are you coming out tonight?” Harry asks, his eyes still wide and lips still pursed, as if he’s trying to hold all of his words in. “I think Aiden’s throwing.”

“Um, maybe.” Louis shrugs. He doesn’t say more. He wants to be mad at Harry, mad at him for ignoring his texts and for acting like they hadn’t hooked up the night before—acting like they haven’t been hooking up since that kiss against Harry’s barn. But, what right does he have to be upset? He and Harry aren’t _anything_.

Harry knows—Louis can tell. He can tell by the way Harry’s shoulders fall in defeat, in the way that lines form on his forehead and his teeth worry his bottom lip. “I’m sorry I never answered your text. About eating.”

“Oh, um.” Louis shakes his head, feeling so caught off guard at Harry’s bluntness. He doesn’t know how he hasn’t gotten used to it yet. “It’s fine. I figured you were just busy preparing for the game or something.”

“Even if I was, I still should’ve texted you back,” Harry argues firmly. He hesitates, his hands shaking at his sides, before he plants them on the slim planes of Louis’ shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was just—I like you, right?” Louis nods, unsure if he should even answer; if it was a rhetorical question. “I just. I like you. I hope you like me. Is that—is that okay? Are we okay?”

Again, Louis isn’t even sure what to say. _Yes, Harry, we’re fine._ Or, _no, Harry we aren’t fine_. Louis doesn’t know the answer. There’s isn’t any reason for them to _not_ be okay but, then again, is there even a ‘LouisandHarry’ to _be_ okay?

“We’re fine,” Louis finds himself saying, the sound of his voice sounding as if it’s coming from someone else in another room.

Harry gulps. “Can I kiss you?” He gingerly slides a hand from Louis’ shoulder to the side of his neck, the giant width of his palm covering the surface entirely. “It’s been a long time since I’ve kissed you.”

Louis rolls his eyes, not able to hide the giggle that slips out from between his lips. “It’s been a day, five-seven.”

“Yeah, a day too long.”

The quarterback that Louis’ grown to know is starting to shine through the skin of this weird, nervous Harry that looks as if he’s swallowed a worm. His dimple reappears, digging a hole into the skin of his cheek and his eyes glow green like a traffic light, mischievous and so bright.

“You’ve gone seventeen years without kissing me,” Louis points out with a smirk. “I think you can wait another day or two.”

This doesn’t stop Louis from stepping closer and toying with the strings of Harry’s sweatshirt. He can still smell the remnants of the game on him; the sweat and the musk of the whatever cologne he had been wearing before, or maybe he had spritzed some on before leaving the locker room.

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t think I can.”

Just as their lips touch, not even a second into the kiss, Louis’ phone starts to ring.

“Shit,” he grumbles as he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans. He’s greeted by a picture of Jay and the words MOM written in bold across the face of his phone. He looks up at Harry in apology before answering. “Hey, mom.”

“Hey, baby, where are you? The girls and I are ready to go.”

“Um.” Louis looks up at Harry and bites his lip. “I’m over at the field house. Talking to Harry.”

Harry grins like a child at the mention of his name. He moves his hand from Louis’ neck down to his waist, digging his fingers into the small of Louis’ back, so close to where Louis would really like them to be.

Jay makes a sound that screams, _oh, of course you are_. “Hm, alright.” She pauses. “Let me guess, you want to overlook your punishment and let you go out tonight.”

Louis swallows, gnawing on the inside of his cheek with his molars. “I mean…mama, I’ve been grounded for a _month_ —”

“Louis, you broke your elbow,” Jay laughs on the other end. “Other moms would’ve grounded you for a _lifetime_.”

“But, you’re not like other moms.” Louis grins, feeling Harry lips press against his temple. Jay just grunts. “I won’t be out late, I promise. Give me a time, and I’ll be back by then, I swear.”

“Oh yeah?” Jay asks in amusement. “How about in thirty minutes?”

Louis deflates instantly. Harry knows how this is going to turn out—Louis can tell by the way his fingers tighten and his lips press against his temple for that much longer.

“I was thinking something like…eleven?”

Jay laughs again. “Louis, you’re still grounded, okay? I’m sorry, baby, but you know that I can’t let you go out tonight. I need to set—”

“To set an example,” Louis sighs in defeat. “I know. I’ll be home in half an hour.”

When Louis hangs up and slides his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. He can see a mix of acceptance and disappointment written across the attractive planes of Harry’s face. Louis smiles apologetically before pressing a chaste kiss to Harry’s lips.

“Want a ride home?” Harry mumbles, his lips grazing Louis’ as he speaks.

Louis nods, kissing the football player again before pulling away. “We still have thirty minutes,” Louis reminds Harry with a smirk. “A lot can happen in thirty minutes, if you’re game.”

Harry scoffs, sliding his hand into Louis’ as they walk around the field house in the direction of the parking lot. “I’m a seventeen-year-old boy; I’m always game.”

There are still a number of people scattered around the parking lot, some people still tailgating with grills situated in the beds of their trucks and coolers lining the pavement. It’ll be a mess to clean up in the morning, as it always is after a Lions win.

-

“Harry, I am _not_ about the rub one off in your truck,” Louis laughs. “Especially when I’m still in my jeans.”

“We’re in high school; that’s what we’re supposed to do,” Harry groans from where his face is pressed against Louis’ neck.

There’re surely a few marks that Louis is going to struggle to cover up in the morning, but it feels so nice that Louis doesn’t even bother pushing Harry away, or moving the boy’s mouth elsewhere.

Louis just snorts as he fists the back of Harry’s t-shirt, wanting nothing more than to rip it off. “That doesn’t mean shit. Get your pants off.”

After a bit of moaning and groaning, because he has the patience of a child, Harry lets Louis pull away so that he can unbutton his jeans and push them down his thighs until they’re pooled beneath his knees. He’s impatient to have Louis back in his lap as he watches the smaller boy toss his jeans down by the gas pedal with their shoes. Louis’ planted in the football player’s lap, his neck slightly hunched due to the fact they’re literally strewn across the bucket seats of Harry’s fucking truck.

Since parking by Louis’ house wasn’t an option, Harry came up with the idea to park at the rest stop by the lake only a few miles away. They had first tried to get comfortable in the bed of Harry’s truck, but that both was too much for their knees and too risky if anyone were to drive by. So, Harry had offered up the idea to take the party to his bucket seats. When Harry had first laid down with his back against the passenger side door, Louis had threatened that, if Harry didn’t let Louis be the one lying down, he would be walking home and leaving Harry with blue balls.

“No, seriously, I’m fine,” Harry had argued, hands gripping Louis’ thighs to keep him in place. Louis knows that, within ten minutes, Harry’s back would be on fire. He points this out, only for Harry to roll his eyes and pull Louis closer until they’re pressed chest to chest, Harry’s dick half-hard against Louis’ ass.

Louis’ tugging Harry’s shirt when he spies the clock on the dash. “Can you get ‘er done in fifteen minutes, QB?” He laughs over the sound of a Kanye song that Harry has playing gently through the speakers. “Should I be like Hank Jennings; _only fifteen minutes on the clock, Harry Styles takes a slow—_ ”

“You’re gonna have to stop doin’ that,” Harry laughs as he pulls Louis’ shirt off as well, tossing it in the same general direction that his own shirt had been tossed. “If you keep talking like Hank Jennings, I’m gonna go soft _real_ quick.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Louis mumbles before he’s gripping the back of Harry’s neck and forcing their lips together in a hard press.

Kissing Harry is _so_ nice, Louis’ realized. He always knows how to take the right amount of control; he’s not overly controlling, but he never lets Louis have all of the control, always keeping him on his toes. It’s kind of like he is when he’s out on the field during a game, as strange as that sounds. He depends on Louis to give just as he depends on his team to give.

Harry’s always been one about equality.

His body is something to write home about, too.

Football has definitely done him good over the past couple of years. Eleanor used to joke that the reason Louis always ended up with football players was less because of Wyatt’s meathead-culture and more because of the typical football player physique. She’s wrong, partly. It’s not all because of the physique.

But, Harry’s body is so different from anyone else’s that Louis has ever seen. He’s muscular in some areas and then completely soft in others. He’s broad at the shoulders and chest, his torso so big that sometimes Louis just wants to lie on him, to use him as a bed or a pillow. Then, as you travel down his torso, he slims down to a slim waist and thin legs that are so muscled from years of constant running.

It doesn’t take much to get Louis going once they’re both pressed together, skin to skin, in just their underwear and Harry’s Nike socks. If they weren’t trying to squeeze a hook up into a fifteen-minute time slot, Louis would give Harry so much shit for wearing his socks while trying to get his dick touched. But, they do only have fifteen minutes to get the job done, so Louis gives less of a fuck about Harry’s socks and more of a fuck about Harry’s dick.

“Are you gonna get our dicks out are we just gonna make out this entire time?” Louis asks with a smirk, his fingers tracing down Harry’s chest, stopping at the cross dangling in the center. He tugs on the silver jewelry, breaking Harry from whatever trance he was in.

“I’m so into you,” Harry murmurs as he reaches down and tugs down the band of his boxer shorts, his cock springing free and slapping against Louis’ thigh. Louis’ partly surprised at how hard Harry is, considering they’ve barely done anything aside from make out. Granted, there was a lot of tongue, but even Louis has only gotten half hard.

Before Louis realizes it, there’s a hand at the waistband of his boxers, pulling out his dick and wrapping around it. “Wait, wait,” Louis breathes out, wrapping a hand around Harry’s wrist. “Do you have like, lube or something?”

Harry nods quickly, eyes wide when he realizes his near fatal mistake. “Right, shit, sorry.” He wraps an arm around Louis’ waist to keep him planted where he is while using his free hand to open his glove box and scramble around for something, anything. It’s a moment before he finds a half empty bottle of lotion, lavender scented. Louis wouldn’t expect anything different.

“Fuck, Harry.” Harry’s hand is big, big enough to nearly wrap around both of their cocks, the drag so good and slick that Louis starts to really feel it. He doesn’t look down to watch Harry rub their cocks against each other, knowing that, the second he did, he might just channel his inner fifteen-year-old self and come before he knew he was coming. Instead, he presses his face into the crook of Harry’s neck, sucking at the skin just below his ear. For all the marks that Harry has planted along Louis’ skin, he figures that Harry could use a few of his own. Call it revenge.

“Louis, Lou, shit,” Harry groans, the sound so good and addicting that Louis feels bad for the people in the world that will never get to hear it. “I need you to do it, I’m gonna come.”

“If you didn’t just win a game, I would call you lazy and tell you to jerk yourself off,” Louis whispers as seductively as he can manage without laughing. He quickly slaps Harry’s hand away and wraps his own hand around both their dicks. He tries to, at least. Harry makes it look so easy, what with his huge, football player-sized hands and long fingers. It takes both of Louis’ hands to keep their cocks pressed firmly together, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind.

The more they hook up, the more Louis learns about Harry. For one, he likes dirty talk. Not the porn level dirty talk that can range from just plain inappropriate to disturbing, but the kind where Harry likes to tell Louis how good is his, how hot he is, how much he does to Harry. He also likes to squeeze out compliments, which Louis only gives because he’s horny and likes the reaction he gets after telling Harry how big his cock is or how good he feels.

Like a gentleman, Harry takes it upon himself to squirt a dollop of lotion onto Louis’ palm, some of it landing on the head of Louis’ dick. The coolness makes him hiss, his hand contracting around both their cocks. That in return makes Harry’s grip on Louis’ hips tighten, his fingertips slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers and inching towards where Louis really wants them.

Since they first started hooking up a month ago, they haven’t done much other than handjobs and blowjobs. They’ve gotten close to other things, once Harry grew confident enough to get close to Louis when there isn’t clothing separating skin from skin, but nowhere near close enough to the actual event. It’s mostly because they haven’t had enough time. Most of their hookups have taken place in thirty minute intervals between getting home from school and Lottie coming back from journalism, or the small period of time after Harry gets back from practice, but before Anne gets back from work right before dinner. So, in reality, they haven’t really had enough time to get to the actual event.

It doesn’t take long for them to come. Unlike Louis, Harry’s eyes don’t leave the sight of Louis’ hands wrapped around their cocks. The faster Louis goes, the louder Harry gets and the tighter he grips the flesh of Louis’ ass, palming his cheeks so hard that Louis’ sure that his fingers will leave bruises. That only makes Louis’ hand move faster, jerking his wrist nearly in time with the pulses of Harry’s fingers. It’s not the easiest feet, giving a handjob with a cast covering his arm from his bicep to the wrist, but Louis makes it work.

“Come first,” Harry instructs, the words so desperate, yet so forceful. He pulls Louis tightly up against them, giving Louis nearly no space to keep a firm hold on the both of them. He doesn’t care though, loving the feeling of how hot Harry’s chest is against his own, the slickness of his mouth against Louis shoulder.

Louis snorts—it’s more of a groan than a snort, really—and tilts his head back just slightly to look Harry in the eye. “This isn’t a football game. It’s not a competition, Harry.” He slows the movements of his hands, so much that he can see desperation growing within the green of Harry’s eyes. That’s when Louis catches on. “Or, do you want it to be?” He swiftly moves one of his hands, still slick with a mess of precum and the remnants of the lavender lotion, to the back of Harry’s neck, tilting his head up.

Based on the moan that Harry so clearly tries to hold in, Louis guesses that the answer to that is a _yes_.

With his single hand still wrapped around Harry’s cock, he tightens his grip and moves slower, deeper, imagining that his hand is his tongue or his mouth or his ass. Harry must be imagining the same thing, judging by the blissed-out look that takes over his gorgeous face, his cheeks flushed and lips swollen, red.

Louis turns his head slightly to look at the clock, letting Harry press his face into the crook of Louis’ neck, his breath hot and wet, just like his tongue as he starts to suction his lips to skin, surely forming another bruise.

“Listen, you’ve got less than ten minutes, five-seven.” Louis wishes that he doesn’t sound as whimper-y as he does. “Are you gonna make the touchdown, or let the other team run all over you? Are you gonna make me proud?”

Harry nods rapidly, his hips thrusting and so much that Louis would get nervous about slamming his head against the ceiling if there wasn’t a fingertip only half an inch away from his asshole.

“C’mon, Harry—fuck, _c’mon_ ,” Louis nearly shouts as he starts twisting his hand faster around Harry’s cock, working his thumb over the head, feeling the precum bubble and spirt over the side of his hand. “Fucking come, baby, fuck—”

It catches Louis off guard, the come that covers his hand and shoots up so high that it catches against his stomach, his chest—even a drop on his chin. Louis will never get over the way Harry looks as he comes, or how he sounds. Once Harry’s come back down to earth and his eyes have opened, Louis takes the opportunity to swipe the small drop of come on his chin with his thumb, sucking the digit between his lips.

“You’re gonna get me hard again,” Harry states, his voice still thick and raspy, his skin still sweaty and hot to the touch. He doesn’t move from where he’s rested with his spine curled up against the door, despite how his back must be killing him, and his hands don’t stray from where they lay planted on Louis’ body.

Louis chuckles, though the sound quickly transitions from a giggle to a whimper as the pad of Harry’s fingertip rubs against Louis’ hole with just enough pressure that Louis isn’t sure whether or to pull away or push back against the digit.

“Why is it that we can never come at the same time?” Harry asks as he uses one of his hands to jerk Louis off, nice and deep, just how Louis likes it.

“Because you’re—fuck—so damn competitive,” Louis breathes out. He lets himself fall against Harry’s chest, both arms wrapped around the football player’s chest as he lets Harry play with his body in the most amazing of ways. “How much time?”

“Fuck the time,” Harry states. He’s more dominant than usual when he says it, making Louis bite particularly hard on his lip. “Just focus on me, babe.” Though Louis can’t see, he can tell that Harry’s probably watching his own finger disappearing between Louis’ cheeks. He can still feel Harry’s chub pressed against his thigh as he thrusts against Harry’s fist, swiveling and grinding in his lap. “You’re so fucking hot, Louis.”

“You’ve gotta get me off,” Louis all but whines against Harry’s cheek. “I need to come, c’mon.”

Harry chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest and vibrating against Louis’ sternum. “What do you want me to do, baby? I wanna get you off, I wanna see you come.”

It’s a lot all at once; Harry’s hands on his dick and his ass. He doesn’t know which direction to go in, which hand to lean into and indulge. Louis doesn’t even _know_ what he wants. Well, that’s a lie—he knows what he wants. He also knows that he can’t get what he wants, not with only five minutes on the table and only lotion at their disposal.

“Blow me,” Louis decides, pulling back from Harry’s cheek to look him in the eye. “Can you?”

Harry nods, appearing pleased with Louis’ request as he situates Louis along the length of the seats. The change in position must be an upgrade from their previous state as Harry manages to kneel between Louis’ legs and lie with his chest leaning down against Louis’ thighs. His necklace dangles down, lightly tapping against Louis’ balls and making him jump.

The first time Harry had sucked Louis’ dick, they had been in Louis’ room. Harry had snuck in around 10pm after Jay had left for her night shift. They had just been fooling around at first, making out and grinding against each other with Harry on top, caging Louis in with his arms. Until then, they had only ever done ‘hand-things’. At the time, they had only been hooking up for about two weeks, and Louis was never one to rush things, even though their whole relationship could be consider rushed. Though, Louis prefers the term fast-moving.

Harry’s lips are amazing to kiss, but their just as tantalizing when they’re wrapped around Louis’ cock, taking him in until Louis’ sure that the football player is going to gag or choke. He does sometimes. Whenever he does, it never takes too long for Louis to come. It’s not even just the feeling of Harry’s mouth on his cock that gets Louis going. It’s the feeling of Harry’s hand holding his hips down, stopping him from bucking up into Harry’s mouth, and the slight, very subtle sting from the hickeys surely growing along the insides of his thighs.

“I—Harry, I’m gonna come,” Louis whines as Harry suctions his mouth to Louis’ balls, allowing Louis to start bucking his hips up in time with Harry’s hand. “God, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Want to come on my face?”

He asks it so innocently, so casually, as if he’s asking if Louis wants his iced tea sweetened or unsweetened, or if he’d prefer Sonic or Jack in the Box. And, god, if they weren’t in Harry’s truck with limited resources and limited time, Louis would one hundred percent take him up on the offer. It’s twisted how close to coming Louis is after hearing the words ‘come’ and ‘face’ in the same sentence coming from Harry’s mouth.

Louis shakes his head, pushing Harry’s hair back from his forehead as the football player starts sucking at a hickey that’s already begun to bloom red where his thigh meets his hip. “No, too messy.”

Harry smirks and licks over the mark, making the skin shiny in the light from the moon shining in through the car windows. “Next time, then.”

That promise alone brings Louis that much closer to the edge. Harry takes it like a champ, he always does; swallowing every last drop and only lifting his mouth off once Louis’ become too sensitive.

Louis doesn’t even realize that his eyes are closed until he’s opening them and Harry’s leaning over him, trapping him between his arms, just like the first night that Harry had put his mouth on Louis’ dick. The image is definitely one that Louis wishes he could make concrete and keep forever.

“I think we’ve passed the thirty-minute mark,” Harry whispers, his smile crooked and far too good looking for Louis’ current state of mind. “Might wanna call mama Tomlinson, give her a heads up.”

The suggestion has Louis barking in laughter. “Christ, yeah, let me call my mom after I’ve just come down the star quarterback’s throat. That sounds like a fantastic idea.”

Harry rolls his eyes and leans down, pressing their lips together in a kiss that isn’t quite chaste, but isn’t fueled enough to be considered anything _other_ than chaste. “You called me baby.”

Louis raises a brow. “You called _me_ baby.”

“You did it first,” Harry points out. Always so competitive. “Is that something we do now?”

“What, give each other pet names?” Louis asks with a grin. “Do you want to?”

Harry shrugs. “I could get used to calling you baby. Maybe boo, pumpkin, sugar—”

“No way, I draw the line at pumpkin and sugar,” Louis laughs. He pulls Harry down by the cross around his neck, allowing their mouths the meet together briefly. “I probably _should_ call my mom, though. I have a feeling that I’m already late.”

“Agreed.” Harry reaches down into Louis’ bag on the floor, pulling out the smaller boy’s phone. “Tell her I said hi, boo.”

Louis snorts as he unlocks his phone and goes to his most recent calls. “This nickname thing is gonna get old.” He taps on his mom’s contact and brings the phone to his ear, listening to it ring.

“Should I just stick to baby, then?” Harry whispers before latching onto Louis’ neck again. As if doesn’t have enough hickeys as it is, dammit.

“Fuck, Har—Mom, hey.” He tries shoving at Harry’s shoulder to no avail, the action only resulting in Harry giggling and moving to the skin of Louis’ shoulder.

“You’re late,” Jay sing-songs as soon as she hears Louis’ voice. She doesn’t sound angry, thank god, but Louis knows better than to assume that he’s gonna get off clean.

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry, but Harry needed to put gas in the truck and the line at Shell was ridiculous,” Louis explains, hoping his voice is steady enough that Jay wouldn’t be suspicious. It wouldn’t be the first time that she caught Louis in a compromising position.

Jay sighs. “It’s game night, hon, did you expect anything different?” She laughs. “Just. I want you home straight after, okay? No funny business.”

_Too late_ , Louis thinks as he feels Harry thumb at one of the hickeys along his collarbones. “We’re just filling up now, so I’ll probably be home in like, fifteen. I promise.”

“Fifteen,” Jay repeats. “I’m holding you to it, okay? Fifteen.”

Louis agrees and, once he’s hung up and dropped his phone beside his bag on the floor, he smacks Harry upside the head. “Hand me a tissue before your come dries up.”

“Eh, I think the look suits you,” Harry says like the annoying, horny seventeen-year-old that he is. This doesn’t stop him from reaching into his glove box to pull out an old, clean napkin with McDonalds written across the brown material. It’s scratchy against his stomach as Harry rubs the strings of come from where they stick to the sparse hair leading down beneath his boxers. “How come I never get to come on _your_ face?” Harry asks as he cleans up a few dots that had somehow landed on Louis’ chest, awful close to his neck.

“You’ve never asked to,” Louis answers. “You usually get off just fine with a handjob; you never ask for my mouth.”

There was one instance when Louis got his mouth on Harry. It was brief—Louis would hardly call it a blowjob. He had been jerking Harry off, the boy already close to coming after nearly ten minutes of Louis grinding his ass against the quarterback’s dick. Harry only lasted about thirty seconds once Louis got his mouth on him, giving no warning before shooting his load down Louis’ throat.

Harry hums and plants a kiss on the top of Louis’ cheekbone. “I’m gonna have to start asking more. I like your mouth.”


	4. Chapter 4

The night of Halloween is the only night that Jay has let Louis leave the house since the night he broke his elbow, and the only reason she does is because she has a shift at the hospital and needs Louis to go trick or treating with the twins. Louis can’t complain, considering that Halloween has always been one of his favorite holidays ever since he was little. That’s rubbed off on the twins, both of the girls starting the habit of planning their costumes and trick or treating route nearly months in advance.

It’s nothing new, either; Louis spending the holiday with his family. Louis’ always liked going out all dressed up with his sisters. Most kids his age would rather spend their nights drinking, despite it being a Monday night, and eating the candy that they’re supposed to be giving to the kids. Where’s the fun in that?

“What’re you supposed to be?” Jay asks with a grin as she stops by Louis’ doorway, Phoebe’s finished red crayon costume.

Louis scoffs from where he’s examining himself in the mirror. “Mom, isn’t it obvious?” He adjusts his thick-rimmed glasses before turning. He’s dressed in a nice pair of trousers, button-down shirt, and suspenders. To the blind eye, what with the gelled back hair and tucked in shirt, Louis just looks like some stereotyped nerd. Jay says as much. However, once Louis undoes the top buttons of his shirt, it all comes together. Thank god most of his hickeys on his neck have faded, or else he would’ve had to be a mime or something, considering all he’s been able to wear the past few days have been hoodies and some of his turtlenecks from his grandma that he has sworn he would never wear.

Jay would just laugh when she saw her son wearing the turtlenecks, knowing all too well that it wasn’t just because Louis was afraid of getting a cold before Halloween.

“Ah,” Jay says once she sees the bright blue shirt beneath. “Clark Kent. Very clever.”

Just as they’re about to leave the house, the twins dressed and Lottie packed to head over to Maria’s, Louis spots an all too familiar truck pull up into their driveway. Lottie must see it at the same time that Louis does, because she immediately laughs and smirks at her brother. “We’ve got a tag-along,” she says knowingly.

“Hm?” Jay turns her head, just in time to see their town’s favorite high schooler walk up onto their front porch. “What the—”

“I’ll get it,” Louis exclaims before Harry’s even touched the doorbell. No one fights him as he all but sprints to the door, opening it so fast that he nearly hits himself in the face with it. Abbey Mae recognizes the new presence in the house right away, scrambling from her place on the couch and sprinting straight into his legs.

“Happy Halloween Tomlinson clan!” Harry greets enthusiastically, welcoming himself inside before Louis even has a chance to, not hesitating to rub Abbey around her head and neck. When he takes in Louis’ costume, Louis can see him pause, the football player gulping as he looks Louis up and down. He collects himself quickly, thank god, and turns to face the girls instead. “Who’s ready for some walking and candy?”

They haven’t seen each other since Friday night after Louis dropped him off. The most they saw of each other on Saturday between Louis’ shifts at work and Harry’s practice, but only via snapchat or facetime, neither of them having time to even spend as much as fifteen minutes together. Louis likes to think that Harry made up for his absence with his drunken snapchats and texts during the party at Aiden Grimshaw’s.

“What the heck are you supposed to be?” Phoebe asks, her red, triangle hat falling onto her forehead and pillow case grasped tightly in her hand. Louis finds himself wondering the same thing.

Harry’s costume can hardly be considered a costume, it only appearing to be a yellow t-shirt with a bell drawn on it in black marker and a patch of the state of Texas ironed on in the middle of the bell. Harry, on the other hand, appears almost offended by the red crayon’s question.

“I’m a Southern Belle,” Harry says, gesturing towards the drawing on his shirt. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Original, maybe,” Jay chuckles as she adjusts the hat on Phoebe’s head. “But, definitely not obvious, hon.” She places her hands on her hips and cocks her head. “I’m guessing you’re here to go trick or treating with Louis and the twins?”

This would be news to Louis, and he half expects Harry to shake his head and say, “No, I’m just saying hi.” This isn’t what he hears come out of Harry’s mouth.

“Yes, ma’am. I couldn’t let him have all of the fun.” He grins at Louis, the look all too similar to smirk for it to be innocent. “I hope it’s alright that I invited myself. If not, I can—”

Jay waves her hand and says, “Oh, please, you can come over whenever you please. But, on a normal night, please try to make your visits before the sun goes down, if you know what I mean.”

“Right, of course,” Harry agrees politely. “I won’t make a habit of it.”

“Glad to hear it.” Jay grins before turning to the twins. “Who’s ready to go trick or treating?”

-

After the first few houses, Louis and Harry start to fall back from the twins, allowing them to lead the way and talk with the other neighborhood kids. It’s nice, just walking hand in hand with Harry. Aside from the school hallways and the occasional walk to the parking lot if Harry doesn’t have afternoon practice, they don’t find much time to do things so… _domestic_. Does hand holding even qualify as being domestic?

It’s finally starting to feel like fall, despite it being the last day of October. Louis can see the goosebumps on Harry’s arms as they walk down the street. He points it out, asking Harry if he wants to turn back, grab one of Louis’ sweatshirts.

“Then how will people know that I’m a Southern Belle?” Harry asks incredulously, a finger pointing down his chest.

Louis just snorts and looks ahead, watching Daisy and Phoebe argue over whether to hit the Dixon house or Loretta Moore’s. If Louis had a say, he would bet on Loretta Moore. She always hands out either those huge Hershey bars or homemade chocolate chip cookies.

“You awful nice, y’know,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ hand in his own. “I like the suspenders.”

“I’m sure you do,” Louis replies. He turns, looking Harry up and down. “I like your…t-shirt. My mom’s right, it’s very original. Did you come up with that yourself?”

Harry nods proudly, his smile so innocent and genuine that it makes Louis’ stomach hurt, as if he’s eaten too much cotton candy at the county fair. He gets that feeling a lot whenever he’s with Harry. “Do you like it?”

_I like you_. _So much_.

“Yeah. It’s very you.”

“Is that a good thing?”

It’s all so déjà vu that Louis can’t help but laugh. “It’s a good thing.” He turns to look up at Harry. “If you couldn’t tell by now, I kind of like you, Styles.”

The look on Harry’s face is indecipherable at first; brow furrowed and lips slightly parted. It’s a look that reflects all of the cogs and screws moving around in his skull. His thick, gorgeous skull that Louis can’t seem to get enough of, despite the blurry image that is their future. Christ, their _future_ —two months and Louis’ already thinking about the future.

“I have a question.” It’s not the response that Louis was expecting. Usually, when they have this conversation, Harry will say something cheesy or cocky that makes Louis want to roll his eyes and squeal at the same time.

Louis nods hesitantly. “Of course.”

Harry clears his throat as he thinks his words over carefully. “Do you know how long I’ve liked you?”

Again, it’s not the words that Louis expected to hear. It takes him aback at first, reminding him of that conversation that he had with Liam not too long ago. “Um, not really? Since David’s, maybe?”

_I don’t know, Harry, maybe the eighth grade?_

Harry chuckles and shakes his head as they stop at the edge of Loretta Moore’s lawn, the twins and a small group of their friends running up the front walk to knock on the door. “Not quite.” He takes Louis’ hand and pulls him closer—but not too close, considering the group of young children just a yard away. “Cold. Think…longer.”

Louis raises a brow. For the majority of whatever has been going on between them, Harry has been the one to make Louis blush, to have the upper hand. _Do you like me, Louis? Do you think I’m hot, Louis?_ Now, it’s Louis’ turn.

“Last year?” Louis asks, deciding to play along. “Around the time of our spin-the-bottle kiss?”

“Uh, no. Longer,” Harry chuckles. “Warmer, though.”

He smirks up at the quarterback, thumbing at his dimple. “Longer? Hm, I’m thinking…freshman year? Around when I hit puberty?”

Harry shakes his head again, subtly enough as to not disturb the hand that’s pressed to his cheek. “You’re getting hotter. Literally and figuratively.”

Louis frowns, knowing that the expression isn’t even close to being convincing, but it gets Harry blushing anyways. “Wow, QB, middle school? Really? Did you really have a thing for spiky hair, cargo shorts, and high-pitched voices?”

“You still have a high-pitched voice,” Harry points out with a smirk. He takes Louis’ hand in his other, bringing them both up to his chest. “I’ve kind of had a crush on you since the eighth grade.”

Louis maintains his frown, ignoring the fact that Harry’s eyes keep drifting down to his lips. “What about _fifth_ grade? The note? The fun dip? Was that all a lie? Did you _lie_ in order to seduce me? Have the past two months been a _lie_ —”

“Quit it, quit it,” Harry laughs. He brings Louis’ hands up to his mouth, kissing his knuckles softly, the touch tickling Louis’ skin. “Fifth grade hardly counts.”

“It’s taken you eight years to grow some balls and do something about this _crush_ , Styles,” Louis points out, inching closer until their noses are _just_ touching. He lowers Harry’s hands, placing them on his waist. Harry squeezes at Louis’ hips, feeling where Louis’ suspenders meet the waist of his trousers.

The words, “Y’all are gross,” break them apart.

Harry snorts, hands flying from Louis as if he’s touched a hot iron. He bops Phoebe on the nose and ruffles Daisy’s hair, careful not to disturb the head band that, according to Jay, brings the whole costume together. “Yeah, yeah, I know, we’re absolutely disgusting. What’d Ms. Moore give you guys?”

They end up staying out until half past nine, the girls having eaten a quarter of their candy by the time they get home and Louis’ overcome with the urge to either rip of Harry’s shirt off or kiss him until he’s breathless. Or both. Definitely both.

-

They’re a thing. Not officially; no conversation or concrete decision. But, they’re a thing. Whenever Louis passes Harry and his group of fellow meatheads in the halls, they all wink and shove Harry in Louis’ direction, whistling and shouting remarks that Louis ignores, too enamored by the blush on Harry’s cheeks as he shoves back at his friends. Harry drives him to and from school depending on Jay and Lottie’s schedules. He even visits Louis at work during his breaks, depending on his own football schedule. Louis has even started coming to watch practices, even when his rally boy duties don’t require him to. He’ll go and see Harry after drama club; watch the boy throw the football around in his yard with one of the other guys.

No one in school is surprised when Louis ends up taking Harry to homecoming. He figures that he should feel weird when Eleanor says, “What, did you really expect that he would take someone else?” But, he doesn’t. He feels proud. He feels _good_. He feels good when Harry says yes, when he says, _duh, obviously_. It’s casual—no cute couple pictures, no mention of labels, but it’s still something that Louis can’t get enough of.

But, they haven’t discussed it. Louis doesn’t think that they need to. Or, maybe he just doesn’t want to. He isn’t sure of the answer just yet. He hopes that he can spend the months before graduation figuring it out.

-

“Are you coming on Friday?”

It’s a rainy Wednesday night and they’re spread across Harry’s couch, Harry lying on his back with Louis resting on his front, head against the quarterback’s chest. They’ve been in the same position for the past few hours or so, just watching movies on Netflix that Harry had saved to his list, movies that he figured Louis would like. Anne was nice enough to make them popcorn halfway through the Bob Weir documentary, which ended up being finished just fifteen minutes into Point Break.

“The game?” Louis asks, moving his head so that his chin is resting against Harry’s pec. He has quite the view from this angle; right up Harry’s nostril. “Isn’t it an away?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out. “I know that you don’t usually come—nobody does, except for our families and stuff, but. I don’t know. I figured maybe, if you weren’t working—”

“I can come to the game on Friday,” Louis states. The words come out like a breath of fresh air, like a substitution for _you’ll be mine and I’ll be yours_. “It’s at Daley Prep, right? Where’s that, a few miles from Dallas?”

Harry nods. “It’s not too far. We had an away game against them sophomore year. It was only an hour drive, I think. Maybe an hour and a half, at most.” He moves one of the hands that was resting behind his head and wraps it around the dip in Louis’ waist. Louis’ learned that it’s one of Harry’s favorite places on his body, a place that his hands always manage to find. “I’m taking the bus with the rest of the team, but I’m sure that my mom or Soph or someone wouldn’t mind driving you.”

“Yeah, I can ask Soph.” He smiles and winks before resting his head back against Harry’s chest. The taller boy wraps both arms around Louis’, hugging him closer. “I have an appointment with Dr. Taylor to get my cast off tomorrow after school. My mom’s gonna have the car so I was just going to get a ride from Zayn, but he has work—”

“Louis, I would _love_ to drive you to your appointment,” Harry chuckles. “Shouldn’t you have gotten that thing off like, two week ago?”

Louis shrugs, thankful that Harry can’t see his face as he says, “I had an appointment last Friday, but…I kind of bailed on it.”

Harry frowns. “What? You bailed? How’d that happen?”

“Chill, _dad_ , I just didn’t feel up to going,” Louis explains with a hesitant laugh. “I uh, I just wasn’t mentally prepared to have a saw so close to my arm. I watched a few too many episodes of Dexter the night before and freaked myself out.”

There’s a silence on Harry’s end, a silence that makes Louis’ heart pick up. He turns his head, just slightly, expecting to see Harry frowning, thinking up some remark about how childish or silly that sounds. Instead, he’s met with a smile—the too-much-cotton candy smile.

“I’ll go with you, Lou,” Harry says softly. He puckers his lips, wiggling his brows up and down.

Louis rolls his eyes and lifts up onto his elbows so that he can shift forward. Once his face is looking over Harry’s he smiles and sighs. “Thank you.”

They keep the kiss soft and sweet, the two mindful of Harry’s mom in the other room. While the white hot kisses are good, the bruising ones that leave Louis dizzy and wanting more, more, _more_ , these ones are good too. Whenever Louis hears Harry’s name come out of someone’s mouth, the words that follow tend to be ‘aggressive’, ‘confident’, ‘fast’, and they’re not wrong; Harry _is_ all of those things. But, above being an amazing athlete, Harry’s a down to earth sweetheart with a heart of gold and not a single mean bone in his body.

“What time’s the appointment?” Harry asks once Louis has settled back against his chest, tucked right under his chin.

“3:15.” He rests a hand beside his face, right under the necklace that’s hidden beneath Harry’s t-shirt, rising and falling with every breath the boy makes. “You don’t have afternoons on Thursdays, right?”

Harry shakes his head, eyes trained on the TV. They’re about ten minutes into this weird surf movie and Louis has been too focused on his pillow to even realize that one movie had ended and another had begun. “No, only Monday, Wednesday, Friday. I can drive you, don’t worry.”

Louis nods and tries his best to watch the movie, but he can’t help but drift to the soft beat of Harry’s heart against his ear, the gentle motions of Harry’s hand rubbing circles into the small of his back.

-

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Harry’s driving you,” Jay says over the phone. She sounds tired, which isn’t surprising, considering her shift started at 3am and it’s already 2pm. “He doesn’t have a practice after school or anything? You’re sure that he can drive you?”

“He only has morning practices on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Louis explains off the top of his head, as if it’s written on the calendar besides Phoebe’s soccer practice and Louis’ drama club meetings. “He’s gonna be here in a little bit, actually. I think we’re getting food before the appointment.”

Jay snorts on the other, the hustle and bustle of the hospital just barely in the background. “So, are you two dating yet, or are you still in this weird ‘talking’ phase?”

Louis nearly chokes on his water, startling Abbey Mae who’s resting at his feet. “Jeez, mom.”

“Oh, _now_ you sound modest?” Jay laughs. “Baby, I was seventeen once, too. I also have a fourteen-year-old daughter who fills me in on these types of things.”

“Well.” Louis pauses, unsure of how to respond. He stands from where he was sat the kitchen table with his English homework and walks to the sink to refill his glass. “He’s not like, my boyfriend or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I would make sense if he was. If he’s not here with you, you’re probably at his house with him,” Jay points out fondly. “Just. Keep me posted, okay? I’d like to know what’s going on in my son’s life. I also want to make sure that you’re not going to get hurt.”

Louis frowns, eyes trained down on the glass of water being filled in his hand. “I—why would I be getting hurt, exactly?”

He can hear his mom hesitate on the phone, followed by the sound of a door closing. This can’t be good. “I’m not saying that you’re going to be hurt, Louis. I just—this is Harry Styles we’re talking about, right? Have you thought about that? About what y’all might be getting into?”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” The question comes out way harsher than Louis had intended. He’s surprised by the anger that he feels, the irritation at the insinuation that whatever is going on between him and Harry is only going to end in someone getting hurt. By the sound of it, Louis figures that he would be the one getting hurt in this scenario.

“Okay, there’s no need for that tone, Louis,” Jay states firmly. “That—what I said came out wrong, okay? Harry is a great kid, Louis, you know that I love him to death. We all do. But, have you really thought about the consequences of dating him?”

Louis shakes his head and shoves the phone between his ear and his shoulder so that he shut off the sink. “We _aren’t_ dating.”

“Don’t be naïve, Louis, it doesn’t take a fool to see where this is going between the two of you.” Jay doesn’t sound anger. She sounds desperate, as if she’s struggling to get her point across without someone getting their feelings hurt. “I just want to make sure that you’re looking out for yours—”

That’s when Harry decides to pull up into Louis’ driveway and beep his born. Perfect timing.

“Listen, mom, I can’t talk about this right now, Harry just got here.” He sets the glass back into the sink and rushes to backpack on the table to grab his wallet from one of the pockets.

Jay sighs. “We aren’t done talking about this, you hear me?” she says, softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Louis says before hanging up and shoving his phone into his backpack. “Lots, I’m heading out, okay?” He waits for his sisters reply from down the hall before grabbing his keys and slipping out the door.

Harry’s playing one of the Carrie Underwood CDs that Lottie had lent him when Louis opens the passenger side door. The conversation with Jay is replaying in his head, so much that Louis misses Harry saying hello.

“Louis?”

“Hm?” Louis hums, startled.

When he looks up, Harry is staring at him with burrowed brows and parted lips. “You okay? Watching some more Dexter?”

Louis chuckles, hoping the sound isn’t as forced as it feels. “No uh, no. Didn’t make that mistake again, thank god. Just a little nervous, I guess. I hate hospitals.”

Harry snorts as he starts pulling out of the driveway. “Ironic, considering your mom’s a nurse, right?”

“Yeah, ironic.” He doesn’t say much else, too busy wondering what the hell is mom had been trying to get at.

In all of Louis’ seventeen—nearly eighteen—years of life, Jay has been the one person that he has always been able to rely on. When Louis’ dad left, and when Mark left, Jay didn’t go anywhere. She stayed and made sure that Louis had someone to look up to. When Louis started hanging around with some asshole junior from East Lake his freshman year, Jay had made it loud and clear that the boy was an asshole. She wasn’t wrong.

To hear her sound so hesitant about Harry makes Louis nervous. It makes him overthink everything that’s happened over the past month. It’s not Jay’s fault that Louis relies so heavily on her opinion. If anything, it’s just a case of Louis being too dependent, refusing to cut the cord. That’s what his dad used to tell Jay all the time when Louis was younger: “ _He’s never gonna cut the cord, Johannah. He’s gonna be your damn baby until the day you die. He’s never gonna cut the cord._ ”

It’s not Harry’s fault either. The only thing he’s done to Louis is be there for him, be good to him as best as he can be. He’s everything that he needs to be. For right now, at least. Maybe that’s what she’s getting at; the whole “for right now” conversation.

“Jesus, you really are nervous,” Harry says, snapping Louis from his thoughts.

Louis frowns, turning to look at the boy. He looks concerned. It almost scares Louis how concerned the boy looks. “Why do you say that?”

Harry shrugs. “We’ve been driving for nearly ten minutes and you haven’t said a word. You’d usually be talking my ear off.”

“Sorry.” Louis clears his throat and reaches over, resting his hand on Harry’s thigh. “Just nervous.” He manages to grin as he says, “I’m glad you’re coming with me.” It’s not just a cover to mask his obvious nerves or discomfort

“Yeah, Lou. Anytime.” Harry grins without taking his eyes off the road and places one of his hands over Louis’. “So, are you feeling McDonalds or Whataburger?”

-

Jay gets home about half an hour after Louis does. She has bags of take out in her arms, the smell of soy sauce and sodium wafting heavily in the air. Abbey is on her in a matter of seconds, the sound of her claws scraping against the hard wood so familiar that Louis hardly notices it.

“Did you get the fried donuts?” Daisy asks excitedly from where she’s sat on the floor in front of the couch, Lottie braiding her long, blonde hair.

“You’ll have to wait until dessert to find out,” Jay sing songs as she sets the two brown bags of takeout on the counter by the fridge. “Someone wanna grab the paper plates?”

“I’ve got ‘em.” Louis hops from his place on the couch and quickly makes his way over to the cabinet where they keep the plastic plates and silverware.

There’s not a tension between him and Jay, which Louis’ thankful for. There is _something_ , though. She gives him a single look, a look that says just one, single word: _later_. It’s enough for Louis to know that their conversation is going to be far deeper than just an “I’m sorry”.

“How’s the arm feeling?” she asks Louis, gesturing to the new sling holding his arm while they’re loading up their plates with Chinese takeout.

He nods. “It’s better than the cast, that’s for sure.”

Jay waits until the twins are in bed and Lottie’s in the bathroom showering before talking to Louis. He knows when it’s coming—can feel it before Jay’s even said a word.

He’s tying off the strings of the trash when Jay clears her throat behind him, sat at the counter in her flannel pants and Lions crewneck. She’s wearing her glasses with her hair tied on top of her head, just as she always has, ever since Louis can remember, back when he was an only child living in some small apartment on the other side of town, waiting for his mom to come home from her night classes. It makes his heart ache, remembering those times.

There’s a manila envelope in front of her, her palms laid flat on top of the gold material. “Want to sit down, baby? You can take care of the trash after.”

Louis nods and sets the full trash bag down against the fridge. He takes up the stool beside his mom, leaning into her as she wraps an arm around him. Any nerves he had disappear as she presses a kiss to his temple.

“Let me just start off by saying that I’m sorry for how I brought everything up earlier.” She pushes his fringe off from his forehead, rubbing a thumb down above his eyebrow. “That wasn’t the time, nor the place, and I apologize. That wasn’t right of me.”

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” Louis says. “I know that you’re just looking out for me. I know that you weren’t saying anything bad about Harry. So, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Jay nods, lips quirked in a half smile. “I appreciate that, baby, thank you.” That’s when she picks up the envelope, wincing slightly as she does so. “Now, I may have to apologize again in a second.”

Louis frowns. “What do you mean?”

She hands the envelope to Louis. “This came in the mail yesterday while you were at Harry’s. I was dumb and I opened it. I should’ve realized what it was—I didn’t even look at the address, stupid me, but…” She shrugs and watches as Louis unfolds the metals clips, lifting the flap to look inside the envelope.

The first thing that Louis sees as he pulls out the packet inside the envelope are the words _UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN FLORIDA_. It takes him a second to comprehend what it is that he’s holding in his hands and, when he does, he nearly drops the envelope to the floor.

“Jesus, mom—”

Jay catches the papers and places them on the counter in front of Louis. “Alright, alright. Let’s slow down, okay?” She runs a hand up and down Louis’ back. Louis’ amazed that she doesn’t comment on his saying “the lord’s name in vain”, but he’s thankful that she doesn’t.

“You looked?” Louis asks. “You—do you know what it says?”

After a second of hesitation, Jay nods, still rubbing circle between Louis’ shoulder blades. “I did, I looked. I shouldn’t have, but I did—”

“What did it say?” Louis gulps not caring that Jay was the one to look first. All he can think about is whether or not he’s going to be attending one of his top schools.

Jay’s eyes widen, clearly surprised by Louis’ reaction. “You don’t want to read it yourself?”

Louis shakes his head, laughing humorlessly. “I think I might puke before I even finish reading my first name.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Jay takes a deep breath and pulls the packet the rest of the way out of the envelope. “You’re _sure_ that you want me to tell you?”

“Please,” Louis says.

He squeezes his eyes shut as Jay begins to read. “Dear Louis. Congratulations, I am pleased to offer you an early decision into our Fall of 2018—”

“I got in,” Louis whispers, his eyes still shut. “I got in?”

“Open your eyes, hon, c’mon,” Jay chuckles. “You got in. _You got in_ , baby.”

In that moment, Louis forgets about Harry and everything else that’s been running through his mind over the past few weeks. All he can think about is how he has a future. And not just a future with a guaranteed college option, but he has an option _outside of Wyatt_ into one of his two top choices.

“I-I can’t believe that this is happening,” Louis breathes out excitedly. “I have to call Harry—I have to call—”

“Slow down, Lou, slow down,” Jay instructs gently, resting both hands on her son’s shoulders as he turns to search for his phone. “Before you do that, can we talk a little bit more?”

Louis does slow down; comes back down to earth at the situation at hand. Harry, Southern Florida, ten months left. “Right, yeah, of course.” He clears his throat and adjusts himself on the stool. “Let’s talk.”

She clears her throat before sighing. “I know that you and Harry have gotten awfully close since school started. I know that whatever it is going on between the two of you is clearly a lot friendlier than your relationship with, I don’t know, Stan or Zayn, right? Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“Um, no, you’re not wrong,” Louis states.

“Now, I know that it’s only the beginning of November and that y’all still have a long way to go before you’re goin’ off to who knows where for college, but I _do_ want to start looking into your future, sweetheart.”

Louis frowns and holds up his acceptance letter. “I _am_ looking into my future, mama. _Clearly_ I’m looking into my future—”

“Oh, darling, I know that you’re looking into your future as far as school is involved,” Jay explains. “But, that’s kind of where I’m going with this. You’re looking into going to places like Southern Florida, San Diego, up North. Harry’s looking into going to places like UT, Alabama, Gainesville.” She holds her hands up, mimicking the motions of an unbalanced scale. “Those places aren’t close, honey.”

It’s a conversation that Louis’ been dreading long before he and Harry had even kissed during spin the bottle over the summer. Back when Santiago had been looking at schools, Louis had to live through this discussion. “ _He’s gonna be in Michigan and you’re gonna be in Wyatt. How does that work for either of you_?” It was painful, terrible, especially when the two boys waited through the entirety of winter to finally pull the plug.

“I know that y’all aren’t dating,” Jay continues. “But, I have a feeling that this is the direction that you’re going in. And, if you end up dating Harry Styles, I want you to realize what you’re going to have to deal with by the end of the school year.”

Louis nods slowly, allowing his mom’s words to absorb into his brain like a sponge resting on a puddle of water. “I really like him, mom. More than I thought I could like someone after only a month.”

Jay smiles. It’s a sad smile. “I reckon he likes you too, honey. I reckon that he likes you a lot.” She sighs and pats his hand where it rests on his acceptance letter. “And I’m not saying that you can’t make it work, alright? You’re a smart boy; you can make it work.”

“What should I do?” Louis asks. “Isn’t it weird to bring these things up before we’re even dating? I’ll sound like a—like some stalker, thinking that we’re getting married or something, talking about our _future_ —”

“How about you start by telling him that you got accepted,” Jay says with a chuckle. “You said that Sophia and El are driving you to the game tomorrow, right?” Louis nods. “Maybe you could tell him after the game. Or, if I know either of you, you’ll both probably be at our house or his house afterwards. You have time to tell him. No rush, okay?”

Louis grins and nods, accepting the kiss his mom gives him on the forehead before she gets up to go to bed.

“Hey, mom?”

Jay turns to look over her shoulder before turning the corner to go down the hallway. “Yeah?”

Louis smirks. “Does this mean I’m not grounded anymore?”

The look on Jay’s face is enough to calm Louis down after going through a tornado. “Let’s just say that, the next time I catch you doing something stupid, you won’t be seein’ the light of day until you’re old and grey, Louis Tomlinson.”

The boy grins and nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

-

_baby_

Since their go in the rest stop parking lot by Williams, Harry has made it a habit to address Louis as either baby or boo. Louis can’t say that he minds it, especially when it’s just the two of them. It likes it less when they’re around the guys who’ll surely make some annoying rally girl comment, but Harry’s smart enough to keep the use of the nickname to themselves.

_pumpkin_

_the bus leaves at 2…  
wanna leave class early to send me off?_

_hm idk I don’t like u that much :/_

_:( mean  
that’s not what u said the other night ;)_

_ew I actually hate u delete my number thx_

_loooouuuu_

Louis sets his phone back down on his desk without replying and looks back up at the TV in the front of the classroom. It’s some black and white movie from the 1930s with no words, the only sound being music that, according to Louis’ notes, are meant to guide the emotions felt by the viewers.

The only emotion that Louis feels is satisfaction when he sees Harry’s name pop up again on his phone. Is satisfaction even an emotion? Regardless, Louis is only feeling satisfied. He’s always loved having the upper hand.

_louislouislouislouislouislouis_

_sorry who is this?  
I don’t have this number…_

_:P haha  
but seriously can you?_

Louis looks up at the clock above the door of the classroom. It’s already 1:40pm, meaning that Mrs. Young has only been out for her smoke break for approximately five minutes. Louis knows that she’ll be back in ten minutes, latest. If he’s going to leave early, it’s got to be now or never.

_Where r u?_

Harry replies so quickly that Louis isn’t even sure if his own text has been sent by the time Harry’s reply pops up on his screen.

_Fieldhouse loading up!!!_

It’s an easy feat; leaving class and wandering through the halls until he’s walking out the doors of the gym leading out towards the football field. Louis can see the team crowded outside of the fieldhouse, helping Dixon and Nelson load up the back of their bus with spare footballs, water bottles, and other sorts of equipment that Louis’ eight-five percent sure they won’t need. Daley Prep is a rich place; they’ll most likely have enough water bottles to go around.

He can spot the quarterback on the field with Niall, Shim, and Ritchie, the four of them tossing the ball around between them. It’s gotten cold enough that all cut-off tees are being replaced by standards t-shirts or long sleeve shirts. Louis knows that Harry has started wearing his leggings underneath his basketball shorts whenever he works out or goes for a run.

Niall’s the first to spot Louis, whistling as the boy approaches. “Well, if it ain’t the sweetest _thang_ that Wyatt has ever seen deciding to grace us with his presence.”

Louis laughs and shakes his head. Harry doesn’t find it as humorous, eyes going dark and saying, “Watch yourself, Horan,” before going to meet Louis halfway. He looks good—he always does. It’s become something of a common occurrence for the quarterback to start wearing his hair half up in a bun and the rest down, free to hang around his neck and down his shoulders. Louis likes it, likes how it shows off Harry’s ears, of all things.

“You sure know how to catch some tail, thirteen,” Louis says to Niall before he’s being scooped into what could only be described as a bear hug. “Oh, careful of the arm, cowboy.” Having his incapacitated arm, cast free but still ache-y, doesn’t stop him from wrapping his free one around Harry’s waist, squeezing tight. “She ain’t

Harry hums as he backs pulls away, kissing Louis right on the nostril before letting the boy loose. He smells like maple syrup, weirdly—yet appropriately—enough, considering the change in the seasons. “Thanks for risking your academic future to see me off.”

The comment alone reminds Louis of the conversation had between him and his mom the night before. _Academic future_. Suddenly, all Louis can see it the emblem at the top of his acceptance letter, burning holes on the insides of his eyelids.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Louis chuckles before pressing a quick kiss the boy’s mouth. He can see the group of boys watching them out of his peripheral, but he can’t find it in himself to care. “Hey, after we all get back from the game, can I come over?”

“Yeah, of course.” He presses another kiss to Louis’ mouth, this one a moment longer than their last. “Will your mom be okay with that, though?”

“Oh, yeah, she ungrounded me last night. Officially.” Louis grins and takes Harry’s hand, leading him back to the three boys who have continued to throw the ball around, despite Harry’s brief absence. “So, no more sneaking around or hanging out in the living rooms for our moms to watch over us.”

The football player wiggles his brows. “Does this mean more fun times? Is this a booty call then?” One of his hands sneakily slips from the small of Louis’ back and down to his ass. It’s all for dramatics, Louis knows. It’s still nice though, ignoring the fact that they’re in the middle of a high school football field with the entire football team in plain sight.

Louis rolls his eyes and feigns a gag. “God you’re insufferable. Like, I actually don’t know how I deal with you.” He doesn’t bother moving Harry’s hand from its position until they’ve gotten close enough to other boys. He can deal with the jokes about the nicknames and the kissing. But, if they were to see anything more than a few pecks or embraces, Louis knows that the jokes would turn from meaningless and immature to just plain obscene.

“That’s not a no,” Harry points out. He willingly moves his hand up to sling around Louis’ shoulders. Louis wraps an arm around Harry’s waist, but not before pinching his ass cheek, winking when Harry yelps and looks down at him with an amused grin. “ _That’s_ not a no.”

“I actually need to talk to you about something.”

Harry frowns, his arm stiffening from where rests atop the slim slope of Louis’ shoulders. “Uh oh. Definitely not a booty call.”

“No, no, it’s not an ‘uh oh’,” Louis chuckles, grabbing Harry’s hand that rests limp by Louis’ shoulder. He rubs circles into Harry’s palm with his thumb, feeling the taller boy immediately relax. “It’s nothing serious. It’s just. A talk.”

“Do you want to talk now?” Harry takes a gentle left, avoiding the boys and leading Louis towards one of the benches on the sidelines. “We’ve still got a few minutes before I need to load up.”

Louis shakes his head quickly, stopping Harry in his tracks before they too close to the benches. They don’t need benches; they’re not going to talk. Not now. Sure, he could tell Harry that he had been accepted at Southern Florida. But, that’s not really the conversation he wants to be having. And it would be cruel for Louis to have that conversation with Harry only ten minutes before the football player needs to leave for a football game that they kind of need to win. This isn’t the time, nor the place, Louis knows. He can wait— _needs_ to wait. “It’s not important, H, don’t worry about it. We can talk when we…talk. Later. After the game.”

Despite not looking entirely convinced, Harry lets it go. They say goodbye in a way that is probably more romantic than it needs to be. They somehow end up with Harry pressed up to the side of the bus while Louis tries to give Harry the best pep talk that he can muster up in such short notice. It sounds something like a speech from The Office, in all honesty; mostly comedic, kind of sappy, but still meaningful enough that Harry pretends to tear up and wipe a tear from his eye.

For the most part, they’ve kept their PDA to a minimum, aside from the small kisses, hugs, and holding each other’s hand while walking down the hallway. Louis’ never been one for major PDA, and he knows that Harry is more or less on the same page. He’s sure that Harry wouldn’t mind planting a few nice ones on him whenever the guys get too rowdy or when one of the second stringers stares at Louis during practice for too long, but he respects Louis’ preferences enough to not force it or push it.

Maybe it’s the pressure of the game only five hours away. Maybe it’s the conversation that won’t be clear from Louis’ mind until it’s been had. Maybe it’s the result of said conversation. Whatever the reasoning maybe, Louis finds himself forgetting about his dislike for PDA and laying one of Harry that is definitely a few degrees hotter than a standard peck.

Louis can hear a few of the guys that’ve already boarded the bus whistling, sticking their heads out the slightly opened windows to witness the (possibly) one and only time that Louis will ever let Harry stick his tongue down his throat.

“I’ll be the one your nudes printed on a poster,” Louis whispers with a smirk. “It’ll be covered in glitter so you won’t be able to miss it.”

Harry ducks his head low against his chest, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Just make sure that my head’s cut out of the picture, yeah?” Harry chuckles, splitting his legs and letting them slide so that he’s the same height as Louis. “Can’t have mama seeing that.”

Louis grins. “I’ll see what I can do. I might have to use up all of my glitter.” He lets his hands slide from Harry’s shoulder to his chest where Louis can feel the cross beneath his sweatshirt. It’s more of a common knowledge that it’s there than the actual feeling of it beneath Harry’s clothes. From what Louis can tell, Harry’s had the chain since he was QB-two freshman year. He’s seen Harry handle it at every single game; kiss before each game, between plays, after every win, after every loss.

He hesitates before reaching down into the neck of Harry’s sweatshirt, grasping the cross between his fingers. The silver is warm against his skin after being pressed to Harry’s chest all day long beneath the thick, dark grey cotton of his Packers sweatshirt. He considers it, watching the flecks of light from the sun bounce of the tightly woven strings of silver creating the four lines.

“You’re gonna kill it, you hear me, five seven?” Louis says sternly, doing his best to channel his inner Carlos Nelson. He thinks that he does a fairly decent job. “You know the plays; you know the team— _your_ team. There’s nothing standing in your way, Styles.” He looks from the cross resting in the palm of his hand before carefully letting drop back down the neck of Harry’s sweatshirt. “Maybe make a touchdown for me?”

Harry snorts, his lips spreading into the smile that Louis’ grown to know and love. “Right, I should’ve known. You only want me for my arm.”

Louis tilts his head back and forth, as if he’s considering this accusation to be true. “Hm, no, not your arm. Maybe just your hand,” Louis says with a wink, loud enough that the guys on the bus that are bothering to spy on them can hear him. Harry shakes his head in amazement, his lips parting as he chuckles.

“You’re something else, Tomlinson,” Harry says, astounded. He leans down, kissing Louis one more time before Dixon’s screaming at Harry to _quit playing tonsil hockey and get on the bus before he busts a nut_. “I’ll see you after the game.”

“Kick some ass Styles!” Louis shouts before the bus is pulling away from the fieldhouse and making its way around the school towards the main road, heading towards Dallas.

-

It takes some convincing for Jay to let Louis leave the house without having dinner first. So much that the only reason she lets them leave when they do is because Eleanor promises to stop at an Applebee’s along the way. Louis also promises to buy her one of those really good peach cobblers from the bakery a few miles away from Daley Prep, as well as to bring Lottie’s camera and to take some pictures of the game for journalism.

Needless to say, it takes a lot for Jay to let Louis, Sophia, and Eleanor leave without at least taking containers of cold lasagna with them. It also takes a lot for Louis to convince Jay to let him sleep over at Harry’s. She ends up having to call Anne to finally be slightly okay with the concept sleeping over a boy’s house who isn’t Zayn or Stan.

It’s been a long time since Louis had gone to an away game. Santiago never asked him to. Didn’t want him to, really. He always claimed that the away games were rough and sad. Louis had gone a few times, only when he knew a lot of people who were, and he can agree that they’re not nearly as fun as home games. Sure, the Lions play strong no matter what turf is beneath their feet. Or, in some cases, grass. Sometimes even mud, which always makes for an entertaining night. But, you don’t realize how much of a difference a good crowd makes until you’re one of the only people wearing green and gold in the entire stadium. Louis can only imagine how the guys on the field feel.

“Hey, can we skip Applebee’s and maybe just hit a Sonic or something?” Louis asks. They’re at a Shell Station, Eleanor inside paying for gas while Louis and Sophia wait in the car.

Sophia shrugs. “Yeah, Lou, sounds good.” She turns her body from where she’s sat in the passenger seat so that her and Louis can be face to face. It takes her a moment to recognize the sweatshirt hanging from Louis’ torso. He’s surprised that it’s taken her this long to figure it out. She smirks, eyeing the big, yellow _57_ emblazoned on the front of the green sweatshirt. “So, how’re you and the QB doing?”

He’s also surprised that it’s taken Sophia to ask about him and Harry. Louis just chuckle and shakes his head. “Um. We’re good, y’know.”

“I _don’t_ know,” Sophia argues firmly, her eyes sparkling with a sneakiness that Louis’ seen in her a multitude of times. “That’s the problem! I want the dirty details. Have you done the deed yet?”

Louis laughs, cringing, despite the fact that the things him and Harry get up to can definitely be categorized as dirty. Also because they _haven’t_ done the deed. And he wants to. “Jesus, Soph, way to have boundaries.”

She just rolls her eyes and slaps at Louis’ denim clad knee. “Since when have I been known to have boundaries?” Louis just nods, knowing this to be very true. Sophia has never been afraid to ask for the dirty details. “And, c’mon, you can tell me about you and Santiago fucking in a classroom during homecoming, but you can’t tell me a _single detail_ about you and Styles? What the fuck is up with that?”

“For being the daughter of a state rep and a former beauty queen, you’ve got a mouth like a sailor,” Louis mumbles. Sophia ignores that and only continues to badger Louis about where his dick’s been. “Why can’t you just ask Liam? I’m sure Harry’s told him plenty of dirty details.”

“No, Liam would never tell me what him and Harry talk about,” Sophia states, sounding rather annoyed by the fact. “But, at least you admit that there _are_ dirty details. Spill. We haven’t had one of our talks in forever.”

That’s when Eleanor decides that half a tank is enough to make the last forty minutes of their trip to Daley prep. “What’re y’all talking about?” she asks as she slides into the driver’s seat.

“Have Louis and Harry fucked yet?” Sophia asks impatiently. No boundaries; no surprise.

Eleanor shrugs, not seeming nearly as bothered by her lack of knowledge as Sophia does. “I know that Harry sucked his dick in the parking lot of the rest stop by Williams.”

Sophia gasps, delighted at the mention of something slightly promiscuous. “Is he any good?”

“Oh my god, can we just drive?” Louis whines, letting his head back against his seat. “It’s already 6:15.”

The girls let it go. Actually, correction: Sophia lets it go—for now. She lets Louis know very firmly and clearly lets Louis know that their conversation is far from over.

He sighs and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against his seat as the pull back onto the road, Eleanor’s stereo blasting Saint Motel as they drive.

-

Like most high schools whose budgets are nearly tripled that of Wyatt’s, Daley Prep’s field resembles something you’d expect to find at Texas A&M or Alabama. The stadium is just that; a stadium, the bleachers raised high, wrapping around the field like a dome. There are two jumbo-trons on either side of the stadium, one showing a commercial for a new flavor at the Dairy Bar and the other zooming in on kids dancing to The Eye of the Tiger.

“Jesus,” Eleanor whistles as they try to find empty seats, preferably near people sporting green and yellow. “This place is like the Lion’s Den on drugs.”

Because of a brief stop at Whataburger, they end up being ten minutes late to the game. They manage to find spots down by Anne, of all people, who’s seated down by the front with a few of the other families, including the Horan’s, Septelka’s, Shimwell’s, and Malik’s, the Malik clan being just as big as the Tomlinson’s at a home game. Some other families are a few rows up, including the Payne’s, who Sophia ends up joining after giving Anne a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Anne shouts into Louis’ ear as he sits down beside her, Eleanor on his other side, between him and one of Zayn’s younger sisters. “I know Harry is too.”

Louis grins bashfully and looks down at the field. There are only five minutes left on the clock and the Lions are already bringing the heat, the score with Wyatt leading 12 to 0. Daley Prep is in their first time out of the game, which proves to have been useless when David Banks scores another three points with a 29-yard field goal with only twenty-two seconds left on the clock. It’s one of the Lions’ better games, considering Daley Prep beat them last year, and the year before that. So, for this game, the Lions knew that they had something to prove. So far, they’re doing a damn good job.

“Don’t tell Harry, but I heard that there are a few recruits here,” Anne whispers in Louis’ ear as the Lancer cheerleaders take over the field before the start of the second quarter. “Coach Nelson pulled me aside at the end of last week’s game. He told me that someone from Alabama’s here. UT too. Apparently, they’ve both talked to Coach Nelson about having Harry go up for a visit like he did with LSU.”

Louis frowns. “Still nothing from Florida?”

Anne shakes her head. “I’ve heard from some boosters that recruits have been around, but none have stopped by a Lions game yet.” She sighs and pats Louis’ knee. “Maybe it’s for the best, though. Maybe Florida just isn’t for him, you know? And nothing’s wrong with UT. A lot of greats started out there…”

She continues to talk, mostly just trying to convince herself that Harry could succeed at UT just as well as anyone at UF or any other top-25 school. Louis doesn’t hear her though. He’s too busy thinking about how _easy_ it would be if Harry got recruited by Florida. Sure, it’s a five-hour drive from USF—only an hour long flight—but that’s far better than the nineteen-hour drive from Austin to southern Florida. And who even knows how far away Michigan is, or Colorado, or who knows where.

It’s selfish, Louis knows. It’s selfish to want Harry to get recruited by Florida for reasons that aren’t circulating entirely around Harry’s own individual happiness and future. Obviously he wants Harry to get recruited because Florida is one of his top choices. But, Harry going to school in Gainesville _would_ make things easier for whatever the future may bring them. Even if they don’t end up working out, they’re still five hours apart. Close enough for them to be together, yet far enough away if they’re apart.

He’s broken from his thoughts as the second quarter commences. By the seven-minute mark, Daley Prep has yet to make a mark. They were close to making a touchdown before the handoff failed, leading to a fumble, only for Lions cornerback Isaiah Hartly to pick up the ball and return it for six points. Harry’s loving it; Louis can tell by the way he jumps up and down every time a play goes off without a hitch and pats the helmets of his teammates every time they do something worth celebrating over.

By the time there are nine minutes left on the clock, Nelson tells his team to start cutting Daley Prep some slack. The Lancers end up scoring seven points, destroying any hopes of having a shut-out. Hank Jennings will surely have something to say about that tomorrow morning on Louis’ drive to drop his mom off at work.

The Wyatt Lions end up beating the Daley Prep Lancers 55 to 7; one of their best scores of the whole season and securing them a highly potential spot at playoffs. The atmosphere is entirely different from that of a game played at the Lion’s den. Instead of intense cheering and the crowd storming the field, shaking the bleachers like an earthquake, all Louis can hear is a sad silence filled with the occasional _boo_ or _fuck Wyatt_! It’s a shitty congratulations, but their guys down on the field don’t seem to mind, judging by the jumping forms all intertwined in a big cluster, hugging each other about their win.

As most of the crowd filters out towards the parking lots, Louis and the rest of the Lions fans wait behind while the Lions finish up their interviews and post-game huddle down on the field.

“Hey, are you seeing Harry after this?” Eleanor whispers before Louis has a chance to stand and follow Anne and the others down the rows of bleachers.

Louis nods, turning to face his friend. “Why?”

She gulps, hesitating, as if she isn’t sure whether she should say whatever it is that she’s about to say. “I ended things with Jimmy.”

This news isn’t nearly as surprising to Louis as Eleanor clearly hopes it would be. Not wanting to hurt her or make her think he doesn’t care—or anything along those lines, Louis feigns confusion and frowns. “Why would you do that? I thought you two were going to try like, being together for real?”

Eleanor groans as they both stand and start walking down the bleachers towards the field. “Key word: _tried_.” She shakes her head in annoyance. “Jimmy’s an idiot. No, _I’m_ the idiot for thinking that he can be in a serious relationship for more than thirty minutes.”

Louis rubs his friends arm, stopping her before they step from the last row of bleachers to the field. “First off, you’re the farthest thing from an idiot. Second, you can do way better than Jimmy. Third, what does this have to do with me hanging out with Harry tonight?”

“Could you maybe…do me a favor?” Eleanor asks, her voice hushed and so, so nervous.

“Of course, yeah.” Louis maintains his frown, now genuinely concerned about what the hell Eleanor is trying to get at.

She bites her lip before saying, “I need you to ask Harry about Noah.”

Louis pauses, his mouth parting slightly, unsure of what to say. “Noah? You want me to talk to Harry about Shim?”

“Well, about what Shim has been talking to him about,” she supplies. “I need you to ask Harry if Shim ever like, I don’t know, asks about me or something.” When it’s clear that Louis still isn’t piecing everything together, she just shakes her head and schools her mouth into a smile. “You know what, we’ll talk about it later, okay? You have a quarterback to congratulate.”

If they weren’t in the middle of a football stadium after a fantastic Lions win, Louis would stop Eleanor and make her explain to him what was going on. But, they _are_ in the middle of a football stadium after a fantastic Lions win, and Harry is standing down on the sidelines, helmet under his arm as he talks to some reporter, Anne waiting only a few feet away.

He wraps an arm around Eleanor’s shoulders and kisses her cheek. “We’re going to talk later, okay?”

Anne grins and waves Louis over when she notices him walking towards them. Louis hadn’t noticed it before while they were sitting down, but now that they’re standing in front of each other, Louis can see the big _57_ emblazoned on the front of her t-shirt, right underneath HARRY STYLES QB1 in gold letters, obviously homemade, but so heartwarming all at the same time.

“Who’s he talking to?” Eleanor whispers to Anne as she watches Harry answer whatever question the reporter had asked him.

“Gosh, I’m not sure,” Anne chuckles. She gestures to the group of cameras and reporters surrounding Harry, waiting for their chance to talk with him, if they’re not already filming him or talking to Liam or Niall.

Now that Louis looks around and focuses on everyone else scattered around, he notices that Harry isn’t the only one being interviewed. Greg and Niall are over by the bleachers while David, Liam, and Richie are closer to the center of the field, Sophia watching on with Geoff and Karen as Liam reenacts a moment of the game. Even a few Lancers are being interviewed across the field, though they don’t look nearly as enthusiastic. Rightfully so, considering they just got mauled by the Lions.

“Do you think that this legendary win is foreshadowing your chances at going to State? At _winning_ state?” the reporter asks. “Or, do you think that it’s downhill from here?”

Anne scoffs in distaste at the question, muttering under her breath about how rude the reporter is, wondering how she’s getting paid for asking such foolish questions. Harry, on the other hand, while he might be feeling the same exact way, holds it in and smiles like some kind of media trained, superstar athlete.

“We have a fantastic team in Wyatt, we have a great work ethic, a great connection between every single player…” He clears his throat, formulating the rest of his answer. “I don’t like to be negative; I think my teammates deserve better than for me to hope for the best but expect the worst. I think that we’re going to celebrate this win, bring this same enthusiasm into our game next week against Gail, and hope for the best.”

It’s such a professional answer—very diplomatic. The reporter continues going on about Harry’s future and the schools that have been showing interest in him so far; asking about any potential prospects or plans after graduation. She even starts asking about his family life, of all things, which Harry shuts down right off the bat, albeit in a very tasteful manner.

As he talks about his future and his plans for college ball, Louis starts to see the fault in his worries. Harry can’t go to just any school like the rest of the kids at Wyatt. He needs to go somewhere where he can get to where he needs to be, whether that’s winning the Heisman and moving onto a business degree or getting drafted by the NFL. He can’t just go somewhere for reasons like _oh, they have a nice campus_ and _Louis is only five hours away_. His world is far bigger than Wyatt. His world is far bigger than a two-month long relationship that hasn’t even been defined as a relationship.

Anne smiles proudly as he shakes the hand of the reporter, telling her that he hopes she can make it to their next game before turning to walk towards his mom and Louis.

“I’m so proud of you, honey,” Anne gushes as she envelopes her son in her arms, not minding his shoulder pads as she squeezes him tight. “You did so good. Incredible.”

“Thanks, mom,” Harry mumbles as he holds her tight around her waist, nearly lifting her off the ground. Over her shoulder, he spots Louis instantly. He winks and mouths _hey_ , as if they’re in the hallway at school and he didn’t just beat one of their prime competitors 55-7.

By the time Anne has unlatched herself from the football player and excused herself to go congratulate some of the other boys, dragging Eleanor along, (clearly trying to give Louis and Harry space) Louis is about ready to jump out of his skin. Harry looks so good, his football pants practically painted onto his legs and his arms beating red, his muscles still tense and flexed. He might be flexing on purpose, but Louis doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about is getting his hands on his quarterback.

“First off, let me apologize,” Harry says with a grin that looks so far from anything apologetic. Not that Louis even has a clue as of what it is that Harry has to apologize for.

Louis raises a brow as Harry stalks closer until they’re close enough for the football player to wrap his arms around Louis’ waist and pulling him forward, the two pressed flushed together from their toes to their chests. “Please tell me that you’re not apologizing for playing in one of the best games of the entire season.” He wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders, ignoring the annoying shoulder pads in favor of focusing on the curls that are cascading down the taller boy’s back and shoulders.

Harry shakes his head. “I didn’t score you a touchdown.” He sneaks his hands under Louis sweatshirt and t-shirt, resting his warm hand against the small of Louis’ back. “You asked me to score you one and I didn’t.”

“Oh my god, Harry, you literally scored me fifty-five touchdowns,” Louis laughs, his head falling back.

“No, the _rest_ of the _team_ scored you fifty-five touchdowns,” Harry argues, as if this is an actual issue between the two of them, despite his shit-eating grin. “I only assisted in some of them. I didn’t actually like, _score you_ a touchdown.”

Louis rolls his eyes and grabs Harry’s face to drag the boy’s mouth towards his own. Harry doesn’t hesitate to open his mouth upon impact. It’s probably not the proper environment for a kiss involving this much tongue, but Louis pushes that thought out of his mind because Harry is fucking apologizing for not scoring him a touchdown.

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s lips. He pulls away just enough to look into Harry’s eyes. He grins, digging his thumb into the quarterback’s dimple. “And, you smell disgusting.”

Harry grunts and starts sliding his hands down Louis’ back, very obviously stating his intentions by doing so. “You smell real nice.”

“Nuh uh, cowboy,” Louis giggles as he grabs Harry’s hands, holding them between their chests. “No more action for you until you smell less like turf and… _death_.”

“Action?” Harry wiggles his brows. He brushes his lips against Louis’ knuckles, kissing them lightly. “What about. You said that you wanted to talk tonight.”

Louis shrugs, wishing that he had never opened his big mouth. “You just won what might be the greatest game of the season, Texas-wide. Talking can wait.”

Harry’s spared another word in the conversation by Louis’ lips any kind of argument that might’ve tried to leave his mouth. Harry’s an easy one; easily distracted wherever lips and other body parts are involved, as Louis’ come to discover. When Harry won’t stop going on and on about how Nelson gave him shit for being while doing runs or how Jacob can’t move his hands fast enough to catch the damn ball during handoffs, Louis knows just the way to shut him. All it takes are a few sneaky touches and licks of the lips and Louis has the quarterback wrapped around his finger.

“You sure?” Harry mumbles, dazed by the feeling of Louis’ mouth on the cut of his jaw. “Like, about the talking? Because, we can talk—”

“No, no talking,” Louis interrupts, maybe too harshly. He smiles, hoping to cover up any bitterness in his tone. “I promise, H, it’s fine, okay? It’s nothing important.” He presses a chaste kiss to Harry’s mouth as he spots Anne and Eleanor coming up over Harry’s shoulders. “But, seriously, you’re in desperate need of a good wash job. Like, _desperate_.” He pats one of Harry’s shoulder pads and smiles at Anne as she approaches.

“Sorry,” Eleanor whispers out of Anne’s earshot. “She kept saying that she could only give y’all a few minutes.”

Louis shakes his head, mouthing _it’s okay_ before smiling at Anne, who’s badgering Harry on how half of his teammates have already hit the showers. “Your DE’s even already on the bus,” Anne points out, to which Harry just claims, “Flores only takes like, ten second showers.”

“I’m not sure where Ms. Sophia has run off to—probably dinner with Liam’s parents—but y’all are more than welcome to drive back to Wyatt with me,” Anne offers once Harry’s finally run off to wash the remnants of the game.

“That would be great, Ms. Cox,” Eleanor says with a grin. “I had a feeling that Soph might flake. I was preparing to call for an Uber.”

Anne chuckles and pats both the kids on the shoulders. “No need for that, I wouldn’t let y’all do that.” She starts leading them off of the field in the direction of the parking lot. “How does some dinner sound before heading back? I could go for a nice rack of ribs, huh?”

-

The players don’t return until half past ten. Harry had texted Louis, telling him to wait up for him and to keep his mom company until they get back to the school. Anne practically demanded that Louis wait up at the Cox slash Styles household, insisting that she could help Louis bake Zayn his batch of snickerdoodles for his practice Monday morning. How could Louis turn down an offer like that?

“Have the two of you made things official yet?” Anne asks as she whisks together the milk, eggs, and oil.

“Harry and I?” Louis pauses from where he stands besides Anne at the counter, a cup of sugar in his hand about to be poured into the bowl in front of him.

Anne laughs, shoulders shaking and eyes sparkling. Harry is no doubt this woman’s son. “No, you and Eleanor. Of course you and Harry!” She sets the whisk in the sink behind her and starts looking through the drawers for a wooden spoon. “I keep waiting for Harry to call you his boyfriend or something; to ask if his _boyfriend_ can come over for dinner or after school. It’s even driving Gemma crazy, and she ain’t even here.”

Louis shrugs and pours the sugar into his bowl filled with brown sugar, cinnamon, and flour. He thinks Anne even added some nutmeg, but he can’t be too sure. He can’t even remember if it’s flour in the bowl and sugar in the cup or sugar in the bowl and flour in the cup. “We haven’t really discussed it, I guess.”

“Have either of you brought it up at all? Are y’all even seeing other people? I don’t think Harry is. Hasn’t talked about anyone but you since you started hanging out at the beginning of the year.”

“Um, not really,” Louis admits. “I mean, _I’m_ not seein’ anyone either.” He looks over at Anne with furrowed brows. “I guess we’re together. We just. Haven’t discussed it.”

“That’s alright,” Anne offers as she pours the wet ingredients in with the dry. “It takes time for some things to come together. Here, you stir these together until they turn into the dough…”

They drop the subject of boyfriends and relationships in favor of finishing the cookies and talking about Louis’ mom and his sisters. He’s thankful for it, considering how lost he is where his and Harry’s relationship is concerned.

He’s looking through Netflix on Harry’s laptop when he hears the front door open and then softly close. Anne is still up, drinking tea and dozing on the couch while she waited for Harry to get home. He can hear the two of them talking in the living room, Anne telling her son that Louis’ waiting for him in his room. “ _No funny business_ ,” Louis can hear Anne say. “I’ll be right in my room. If I hear anything, I’m driving Louis home, you hear?” Harry probably grunts in reply, tells her that he would never even _dream_ of deflowering another human being until marriage; something along those lines.

“I could get used to this,” Harry whispers as he closes his bedroom door behind him. He’s squeaky clean, dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and his favorite Packers hoodie, the hood pulled over his hair that, if Louis knows Harry at all, is braided down the back of his neck, tied off into a little stub.

“Me using your Netflix?” Louis asks with a smirk. “Because I could too.”

Harry drops his game bag by his desk and yanks his hoodie up over his head. “I was kind of leaning towards the whole ‘walking into my room to see you in only my sweatshirt and my boxers’ scenario.”

Louis hums, closing Harry’s laptop and setting it on his side table next to one of the many bottles of water scattered throughout the room. “Your sweatshirt?” He raises a brow as the football player yanks of his t-shirt before climbing on top of Louis on the bed. “If this is yours, then how come I found it in _my_ closet?”

“Maybe because Stanley Lucas can’t hold his liquor and threw up all down your chest,” Harry explains with a quirked brow. “I remember giving you my sweatshirt. I thought I’d lost it before remembering that I’d given it to you.” He leans down, pressing his nose to Louis’ chest and breathing in deeply. “It smells like you now. You been wearing it?”

_I’ve slept in it about a million times since you gave it to me_ , Louis thinks, but doesn’t dare say out loud.

“When it’s cold and I have nothing else to wear, maybe.” He shifts down lower on the bed, putting Harry’s face right above his own. “I think I promised you something earlier, after the game.”

Harry raises a brow, planting a kiss the tip of Louis’ nose. “Hm, I think I remember a few promises being made. Something to do with _action_? I’m pretty sure you even went as far as to call me your _booty call_ before we left this afternoon.”

“I’m pretty sure that you called _yourself_ my booty call,” Louis points out. He tangles his fingers in the chain hanging around Harry’s neck. “You down, booty call?”

“Always down. Especially with you.”

Louis doesn’t hesitate to pull Harry down by the cross hanging around the taller boy’s neck, allowing their lips to smack together with a noise that would definitely attract Anne’s attention if she were to be outside her son’s door.

Things start out the way that they usually do; they kiss, they undress, the rut against each like horny teenage boys. They’re just squirming in each other’s arms, waiting to see who will make the first move. That’s when Louis decides that things aren’t going to be like they usually are.

“Babe,” Harry moans into Louis’ mouth as the smaller boy tries to pull away. He immediately dives right back in, lips suctioned to the skin behind Louis’ ear.

“No more hickeys,” Louis laughs breathlessly. He shoves at Harry’s shoulders, trying to get the football player to back off and look at him for a second. “Hey, H. Stop for a sec.”

Harry pulls back, but not without going on and on about how Louis tastes _so good_ and how he doesn’t want to waste any time that could be spent with his mouth on Louis’ body. His face is soft and pliant, yet so ready to dive right back in and to finish what he hasn’t gotten the chance to start.

“Do you, uh…” Louis gulps, pushing Harry’s hair back from his forehead, tucking a thick strand behind his ear. “You have condoms?”

The question leaves Harry taken aback, the boy clearly not expecting to be getting laid. They’ve never talked about actually having sex, both them just assuming the handjobs and blowjobs were enough. And they are enough. Louis is never one to turn down a blowjob from his favorite football player. But, Louis wants to have sex. He wants to feel that intimacy, that intensity—he wants to feel all of that with Harry.

When Harry doesn’t say anything, just stares at Louis with this look that is so undistinguishable, Louis frowns and shifts. “Um, or not. I can just suck—”

“No—I have condoms,” Harry interrupts with a quick shake of his head. “I-I _have_ condoms. I just. You want to—I mean. You’re sure?”

Louis nods frantically, leaning up and attaching his mouth to Harry’s Adam’s apple. He reaches down, palming at Harry’s ass through the cotton of his boxer shorts. “I want to. I _really_ want to.” He pulls away suddenly though, looking up at the boy on top of him. “Unless—”

“I want to,” Harry rushes. He runs his hands through Louis’ hair, watching the light brown strands spread out like a halo atop of Harry’s green plaid comforter. “Trust me, I want to. With you. We’ve just never like, talked about it is all. I don’t want you to think that you have to or somethin’. Don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“You know me, H; I ain’t about to do something that I don’t wanna do.” He grins, pulling Harry back down to kiss at the side of his mouth. “So, go get your lube, get your condoms, and get your fucking dick out, okay?”

Harry has always been a good listener. In a blink of an eye, like a flash, Louis is face to face with Harry’s belly button as the boy searches for the requested items in his bedside table. When he resurfaces, now straddling Louis’ thighs, he’s shaking his bottle of lube, trying to get whatever’s left of it towards the top by the nozzle. He’s also pulled out a strip of three Magnums.

“Jesus, Harry.” He clears his throat as he grabs for the strip of condoms by his hip. “Three? Really? And Magnums? Isn’t that a bit, dare I say, cocky?”

“Is that some kind of inappropriate dad joke?” Harry asks as he finally gets his cock out, his boxer shorts tucked under his balls and pulls down the slim lines of his hips. He sits up on his knees, doing his best to peel the shorts down his legs without having to move from where he’s hovered over Louis’ groin. “It’s kind of turning me on.”

“What, me making dad jokes?” Louis laughs. “Dad jokes turn you on?”

“It’s a kink, what can I say,” Harry replies with a wink as he tosses his boxer shorts to the foot of the bed, leaving him as naked as the day he was born.

Louis laughs, ripping off one of the condoms and tossing the other two onto the bedside table. “You can call me daddy if that’s what’s gonna get you off. I’m sure that I’ve got a few more dad jokes up my sleeve.”

Harry hums, as if he’s actually considering this. It honestly wouldn’t surprise Louis if he was. “I can be dirty, but not that dirty. At least, not yet.” He snaps the waistband of Louis boxer shorts. “You need to get these off, Tomlinson. I can’t be the only one with my dick out.”

“Silly me.” Louis lifts up his hips for Harry to pull down his underwear.

It takes them a while before they actually get to the fucking. They start out with Harry between Louis’ legs, using far too much lube and spending way too much time on the foreplay than the actual event. Once Louis’ had enough, feeling way too close to coming for only having two fingers inside of himself, he decides to take matters into his own hands and rolls Harry onto his back. He climbs on top of the football player and grabs his wrist, placing his big hand back into its previous position.

“I’m not about to rush you, babe,” Louis breathes out, hands twisting in Harry’s long waves that’re spread on the pillow beneath him. “But, I need your dick in me.”

The words affect Harry more than Louis thought they would, as Harry’s brows furrow together and his teeth dig into his bottom lip. “If you keep saying things like that, my mom is definitely going to figure out that we’re not in here playing Scrabble.”

Louis snorts, rotating his hips over Harry’s cock. The quarterback’s already hard, his prick thick beneath Louis and so tantalizing. “Your mom raised Gemma, H. She definitely knows that we’re not playing fucking Scrabble.” He smirks, watching Harry squirt another dollop of lube onto three of his fingers. “But, you like that? Me talking about your big, thick cock?”

Harry coughs, nearly dropping the bottle of lube on his face. “Jesus—”

“About how I want your big cock to split me open as you pound my ass—”

“Louis, I’m literally going to come if you keep talking like that,” Harry groans before flipping Louis onto his side, the two of them facing each other. The movement knocks the breath out of Louis, leaving him dazed as Harry fits his middle finger back inside of him. “Feel free to continue that once we’re actually fucking, though.”

Louis laughs, the sound shaky and on the verge of becoming a moan. “Okay, okay, get to work, Styles.” He lifts his leg and lays it across Harry’s hip, giving Harry better access to where Louis really wants him.

When Harry first pushes in, Louis, positioned on all fours with Harry behind him, _literally_ feels as if he’s being split open. He winces, stuffing his face into Harry’s pillow to hide any sounds that might accidentally slip out of his mouth. He can feel Harry behind him, alternating between gripping his hips and rubbing the small of his back as he slowly sinks in. Louis can hear Harry speaking behind him, talking about how good Louis feels and how he’s almost all the way in.

“You good?” Harry asks, voice hushed. He strokes his hand up and down Louis’ back before brushing his fingers through the soft hairs at the nape of Louis’ neck.

Louis nods, turning his head to look at Harry over his shoulder. “Keep going,” he instructs as he reaches back to take a hold of Harry’s hip, finger tips digging into the flesh of the football player’s ass as he pulls him forward and deeper inside.

Harry fucks the same way he plays on the field, the same way that he talks, the same way that he kisses. It starts off slow and steady, as if he’s trying to figure out what to do and if he’s doing things the right way, the way that Louis likes. It’s all about analysis, not to sound too technical. Then, it’s as if he’s flicked a switch; going from slow and steady to hard and fast. The motions of his hips slam into Louis so intensely that Louis has to hold a hand against Harry’s headboard, bracing himself from having his head being rammed right through it.

“So fucking hot,” Harry breathes against Louis’ shoulder blades, his fingers curling around Louis’ as he thrusts into him over and over. His pace is excruciating, each thrust of his hips hard, deep, and fast, just as Louis likes it. “God, your ass feels so good, looks so hot.”

Usually when one of them is about to come, it becomes a competition of who can get who to come first. But, now, as Louis starts to get that familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach, the only thing he wants is to come to the feeling of Harry coming inside of him.

“Harry, fuck, I-I’m about to—”

“Me too,” Harry moans, digging his teeth into the skin of Louis’ shoulder. Louis should tell Harry to quit it, whack him over his head before Louis ends up with a bite-shaped mark. But, Louis doesn’t think to do anything of the sort. Instead, he finds himself reaching behind him to grip the back of Harry’s head, tugging on his hair, each tug harder with each thrust of Harry’s hips.

For the first time, after nearly two months of making each other come, they come together, Harry buried balls deep inside of Louis with his face pressed against Louis’ neck. Louis’ collapsing against the bed before he’s even realized that his knees have given out, Harry following him down and spreading out right on top of him. Both of them are sweaty, their skin flushed and sticking together like Velcro.

Louis doesn’t make Harry pull out until he starts to feel sensitive and like he’s about to overheat. He whines, softly, and gently kicks at Harry’s knee with his heel. Harry complies easily, taking his time to pull out of Louis before rolling off of him and onto his back. He carefully removes the condom, tying it off and tossing into the nearly by trash bin.

“Your mom asked me something earlier,” Louis states. He mentally slaps himself. They’ve just fucked for the first time—and it was fucking fantastic—and he decides that now is the time to bring up whether or not it’s okay for them to be with other people. Whether it’s okay to _not_ even _want_ to be with other people.

Harry frowns, his eyes hazy and dusty. He’s tired. Louis isn’t surprised; he used up all of his energy in the game and topped it off with a nice, hard lay. Louis’ surprised that Harry was even _up_ for a fuck, let alone the kind fucking that Harry gave him.

“What did she ask?”

Louis gulps, twisting his fingers in the mint green pillowcase beneath his head. “She asked me when you’re going to call me your boyfriend.” The second that the sentence is out of Louis’ mouth, he wants to suck them right back in and smother himself in Harry’s pillow.

The football player grins instantaneously and splays his hand across Louis’ cheek. Louis opens his eyes, not even realizing that they had been closed in the first place. When he opens his eyes, he’s surprised that Harry doesn’t appear confused or uncomfortable. If anything, the boy looks pleased.

“She’s been asking me the same thing since that day at Williams, way back after the first game against East Lake,” Harry admits. He sounds as if it’s not a big deal. Louis’ instantly jealous, wishing that he could be as carefree and nonchalant about things like feelings and defining relationships.

Louis nods slowly, comprehending this information. “So.” He bites his lip, not exactly sure how to ask _are we boyfriends? Or just fucking?_ It’s probably easy enough to broach the subject in that exact fashion, but Louis has never been good about being blunt. At least, not where his feelings are concerned.

Harry raises a brow, clearly amused by how emotionally stunted Louis is. “So.”

“Are we together?” Louis asks before he can talk himself out of doing so. “Or, are we just…hooking up, I guess?”

Unlike Louis, who is currently contemplating whether or not he’s just fucked everything over, Harry appears perfectly calm, cool, and collected. He looks humored, if anything. His face kind of reads _no duh_ as he laughs, probably too loud, considering Anne is asleep right down the hall.

“I mean.” Harry shrugs, trying (and failing) to bite back his shit-eating smile. “Louis, I’m kind of _in like_ with you. Have been for a while, if I’m honest.”

“God, _in like_?” Louis laughs, placing his hand on top of Harry’s. “Is that your way of saying that you’re into me?”

“No,” Harry states firmly. “My way of telling you that I’m into you is me telling you that I’m into you. Which I am. Into you, I mean. _So_ into you. But, me telling you that I’m in like with you is me telling you that you’re the only person that I want to be with. I only think about you, about being with you.” He inches closer, enough so that his breath fans across Louis’ face. “I would like to _think_ that we’re together. I mean, if you want the same thing.”

“Of course I want the same thing,” Louis murmurs, fingers reaching out to ghost over Harry’s lips. They’re still wet and warm from when Louis’ were attached to them. As Louis drags his thumb across Harry’s bottom lip, he’s tempted to kiss him again. “I’m. I guess you could say that I’m in like, or whatever, with you too. Same meaning and everything as you.”

“So, it’s settled then,” Harry says before pecking Louis so lightly that it feels more like a tickle then a kiss. “We’re together.”

Louis smiles and nods. “Our moms are gonna have a field day with this, huh?”

“Eh, it’s nothing that they weren’t expecting,” Harry murmurs. He lifts his head to look at the clock over Louis’ shoulder. “Wanna be my big spoon?”

A giggle slips out from between Louis’ lips before he can stop it. “Turn over.”

Louis falls asleep with his head resting against the place between Harry’s shoulders, listening to the boy’s heartbeat while dreaming about checking prices for a bus ticket from Miami International to Gainesville Regional.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so bad at updating!!! I'm sorry that my updates are literally never consistent, with the next few chapters I plan on being more on top of things. Based on how much is already written of the fic and how I'm separating it into chapters, I can see there being around ten chapters.

No one is surprised when Louis and Harry start making it known that they’re exclusive, or when they start throwing around the word _boyfriend_. The only person who appears to have a reaction is Jay, who just continues to be concerned about Louis getting hurt.

The conversation between Louis and Harry about Louis being offered an early admittance to Southern Florida is postponed until Louis figures out how to even approach the conversation. When he had first planned the subject out, it went something along the lines of _I’m going to Miami—should we end things before then or not?_ Now, the last thing Louis wants to do is end things before they can even begin.

Things don’t really change since they officially became a couple. Louis still comes to each game, home or away, as well as each practice, whether they align with his rally boy duties or not. Harry comes over sometimes after his afternoon practices when Louis isn’t busy with drama club and Louis makes it a habit to go to Harry’s for dinner at least once or twice a week. The only thing that changes is the way that Louis feels every time they spend time together, every moment that his feelings for Harry grow stronger. He grows anxious, envisioning the day that they realize that their relationship won’t last, that their futures are too big individually for them to work as a pair.

It’s an unhealthy way to think; imagining that your relationship has an expiration date. Louis knows that. But, the more everyone starts talking about Harry being looked at by schools all the way across the country—all the way across the country from Florida—Louis starts to realize that they’re relationship was born to die, or not meant to be. One of those ‘right people, wrong time’ scenarios. Maybe if they had been able to make things work earlier on, they could’ve made things work. Or, maybe they could’ve waited until after high school, let fate bring them together again when things are easier.

But, it’s hard to think that way when everything is so great in the moment. Sure, sometimes all Louis can think about is that each kiss has a countdown but, underneath all of that, or maybe above it all, it’s something that Louis never wants to let go of.

“What do the Tomlinsons do for Thanksgiving?” Harry asks as he chooses between red Gatorade and Blue.

Louis makes the decision for him, tossing a six pack of the yellow ones into the cart before continuing down the aisle towards the sodas. “Um, not much, to be totally honest with you. It’s usually just us and my grandad.” He shrugs and places a two liter of bottle of coke into the cart. “What about you? Aside from the game, obviously.”

Harry places a pack of red bull back onto the shelf, but to Louis’ dismay. “That shit’s gross, Lou. Most years we have family come up from Daytona and Atlanta. It’s usually like, a huge thing with close to thirty people. But, this year Gem and Mike are staying in California and I think only my mom’s brother is coming up with his wife and kids.” He lets the cart run into Louis’ butt as they come to the end of the aisle, smirking as he does so. “If y’all don’t end up having plans, you’re welcome to come to mine.”

“You’re too kind, QB,” Louis chuckles. He blows the football player a kiss before leading him down the other aisles.

They were meant to just be shopping for Jay’s Thanksgiving needs; some potatoes, onions, veggies, a frozen turkey, and whichever pies were on sale. Louis, however, _also_ has needs, including chocolate chip cookies and red bull. Harry has tried to regain control over the shopping list that Jay had originally given him, but Louis is a sneaky bastard and had somehow managed to confiscate the list.

“Louis, your mom is gonna kill me,” Harry whines as Louis throws three bags of Cheetos into the cart. “She literally only gave you ten things to buy.” He places two of the bags back on the shelf. “If she asks, I’m blaming you.”

“Do it, I dare you.” Louis huffs as Harry snatches a box of fruit snacks from Louis’ hands. “If you let me get a pint of ice cream, I’ll suck your dick tonight.”

Harry pauses at the end of the aisle, considering Louis’ offer. It only takes him a few seconds before he’s taking a left towards the deli counter—the opposite direction of Louis oh so desired ice cream. “How about we stop at the Dairy Bar instead?” he offers. “I’ll even pay.”

There hasn’t been a day in Louis’ seventeen—nearly eighteen—years of living that Louis has turned down an offer of free ice cream. “Deal. I’m getting the brownie sundae, though.”

Only the twins are home when Louis and Harry return back from the store, Harry carrying most of the bags while Louis finishes the rest of his sundae. The twins are less than thrilled when they realize that their brother went to get ice cream without them, but Harry makes it up to them by scrounging up ingredients for his “famous” homemade brownies. Louis isn’t sure how famous they are, but they’re damn good.

It’s not an official tradition, per say—Harry staying over for dinner every Thursday. But, considering that he’s had dinner with Louis and his sisters every Thursday for the past three weeks, Louis likes to think that Harry’s presence on Thursdays is something of a tradition.

“Should I get the Fettucine Carbonara for your mom?” Harry asks as he looks up the number for the Rolling Tomato on his phone.

Louis nods from where he’s sat at the counter, French homework in front of him. “Yeah, with the Cesar salad, please . And only a small veggie, please? You got a large last time and we ended up throwing half of it in the trash.”

“That’s only because Lots wasn’t here to finish it with me,” Harry argues as he lifts his phone to his ear. “Hi, I’d like to make an order for delivery.”

If Louis’ family didn’t like Harry before things with him became official, then they’re one hundred percent in love with him now. While they spend a fair amount of time at Harry’s since it’s usually empty, what with Anne not coming home until dinner, Harry loves coming to Louis’. He loves watching trash TV with Lottie and listening to the twins go on and on about whatever drama is going through the middle school grapevine. Abbey’s grown rather fond of him too, going crazy every time the football player walks through the front door. He even loves spending time with Jay, which is really what seals the deal with Louis. Anyone who loves his mom is someone who Louis can grow to love.

Christ, _love_. A little too soon to be throwing that word around, Louis reckons.

“Are you guys going to win tomorrow?” Daisy asks once Harry’s off the phone and made himself at home on their loveseat, Abbey draped across his shins with her head on his knee. “Didn’t Bridgewater beat you last year?”

Harry chuckles, tearing his eyes off of the Kardashians to grin at Daisy who’s sprawled across the three-seater. “You need to stop listening to Hank Jennings, Dais. He’ll poison your mind.” He clears his throat and pushes his hair back, letting the knotted curls drape across the armrest under his head. “But, for your information, we _beat_ them last year. And the year before that. And the year before _that_.”

“So, you’re saying that you think you’re gonna win?” Lottie asks, sounding more like a grown reporter than a curious teenage girl. “Mr. Porter at school says that it’s gonna be a close game. Apparently Bridgewater’s quarterback is this really talented sophomore—”

“Okay, Lots, let’s leave the interrogating to the reporters, yeah?” Louis says from the kitchen table. “Save that for the game tomorrow.”

“Chill, Lou, I was just asking,” Lottie grumbles. She stops with the Spanish Inquisition, though, which Louis’ thankful for. He knows that Harry is too. He hates the questions, the badgering. Louis’ had to witness the multiple times that they’ve been at Donuts Etc. or the grocery store and random strangers will come up to Harry and treat him either like an old friend, a celebrity, or a troublemaker who’s been caught egging someone’s house. Harry handles it well; the compliments, the questions, the criticism. But, Louis knows that Harry dreads the moments that someone starts questioning him, or worse, his team.

“Are you almost done with homework, Lou?” Harry asks, his words tangled into a whine that’s masked enough that, to the blind eye—or ear—it hardly resembles a whine. Louis knows Harry, though, and knows that Harry is awfully close to getting up and tossing Louis’ textbook out the window. “I miss you.”

“God, clingy much?” Phoebe snorts just as the doorbell rings with their food. “You’ve been with him literally the entire day.”

This, of course, results in a full on battle between Phoebe and Harry over whether Harry is clingy or not. Phoebe’s right; Harry does have clingy tendencies. But, so does Louis and, while he won’t admit it, he loves it when Harry’s clingy, especially when the feeling is mutual.

Louis doesn’t even notice that it’s Zayn at the door holding their pizzas until he’s finished counting out his cash. “Oh shit, does this mean that I have to tip you extra?”

Zayn rolls his eyes and flips Louis the finger with the hand that isn’t holding the stack of pizzas and pasta. “You’re lucky I didn’t let Lance deliver this.” The receiver lets himself in, walking past Louis and heading into the kitchen. “Hey, Tomlinsons. And Harry.”

Harry waves from his place on the couch, pouting when Abbey makes a mad dash from Harry’s legs to Zayn, her tail wagging so hard that her back legs are practically sweeping across the ground in time with the movement. “You’ve stolen my woman!” he exclaims, watching over the back of the couch as Zayn sets the pizzas on the counter before greeting the hound.

“Fuck you, I thought _I_ was your woman,” Louis states, no malice in his words as he fishes in one of the cabinets for the paper plates.

He’s scolded by the twins for using such foul language, something that Jay will certainly catch wind of tomorrow morning when she’s getting home from work, which is something that humors both Harry and Zayn. More Harry than Zayn, since he’s always been the one to do the scolding for when him and Gemma were younger and Gemma was just getting used to swear words in middle school.

“Are you done with work?” Louis asks as Zayn helps him open up all of the cartons.

Zayn nods. “Mhm. When I saw your order, I offered to deliver it on my way home. Figured I would stop by, make sure that you two,” he gestures towards Harry, “aren’t banging when your sisters are right down the hall.” He whispers the last part of his sentence, thank god.

Louis gasps dramatically and places his hand over his chest. “How dare you insinuate such a thing.”

(For the record, nothing of that sort has actually happened. There have been a few times when Lottie’s been home or when everyone was asleep and Harry snuck in at midnight, but never have they ever hooked up while the girls would be capable of hearing them. Fuck off, Zayn.)

One of the few pros of Jay working the late shifts include eating dinner in front of the TV. While she will sometimes allow for them to eat on the couches, she draws the line at turning on the TV. She claims that interrupts conversation and takes away time that could be spent discussing their days. They end up eating at the table more often than not, because where’s the fun in eating on the couch if you can’t even watch TV?

Much to Louis and Phoebe’s dismay, the channel that they end up watching over the course of dinner is Carrie Razor’s Sports Talk on channel ten. Unlike Hank Jennings Carrie tends to be far less critical and way more interested in the actual season, rather than the drama behind the scenes. Not to mention that she gives in-depth analysis’ of each team that’s high in the rankings for playoffs, meaning that she’ll obviously bring up the Lions. So, of course they watch.

“So far, Bridgewater has had a flawless season,” Carrie says on the TV screen, a video of Bridgewater’s recent game’s winning touchdown replaying behind her. “Tomorrow they face off against the Wyatt Lions, one of Texas’ top high school football teams so far this season. Aside from a close loss against Bishop Carter last month, the Lions have had an incredible season. One of the most notable games of the season was between the Lions and the Daley Prep Lancers, the score ending the Lions winning fifty-five to seven.”

Harry and Zayn high-five, reaching above Louis’ head, who’s shamelessly curled up in Harry’s lap and trying not to spill cheese from his pasta on the football player’s lap.

Carrie goes on to mention some of the individual players; Niall’s immaculate stats and chances of starting at Alabama come fall of 2018, Liam’s notable improvement since being placed on the first string the previous year, Jayden’s absolutely insane amount of speed and adrenaline that never fails to make an appearance each and every game and, last but not least, Harry’s impeccable leadership skills, professionalism, and how his arm should be insured for a million dollars.

Suddenly, Nelson’s face is filling the screen, his skin red from the sun and green baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. His shoulders are tense, as they always are during interviews or anything involving press or media, and arms crossed over his chest.

“This is one of the best teams that Wyatt has ever seen,” Nelson starts off, his eyes avoiding the camera at all costs. “Our offense is fluid, our defense is strong—the only thing that could break us is a break in communication, which I strongly doubt will happen at this point. All of my players are close and have strong bonds with each other. They’re all focused and want to win.”

Louis chuckles and looks up at Harry, who’s face has gone soft, almost bashful, like when you listen to a sappy speech and want to hold back the tears and can’t decide whether you want to smile or not. “Tearing up, QB?”

Harry grunts and pinches Louis’ waist, making the boy squeal. “No way. The only time Coach can make me cry is when we lose, we win, or when he tells us that we have an extra hour of runs.”

“So, you basically cry after every game?” Lottie asks with a laugh.

“Basically,” Zayn confirms with a knowing smirk. “He always takes Coach’s speeches way too seriously, like they’re prophecies or somethin’.”

“Hey, they could be,” Harry retorts before turning back to the TV. He shoves a slice of pizza between his lips, the bite he takes most likely being too big for him to swallow whole.

By half past ten, about an hour after the girls have gone to bed and after Zayn has gone on home, Harry decides to call it a night as well. “I have to be up by five,” he grumbles as Louis unwillingly stands from where he had previously been straddled across Harry’s lap. “You better be front row, right by the sidelines.”

Louis rolls his eyes and gives Harry a quick, chaste peck. “Always. Who else will kick your ass into gear when your head’s in the clouds?”

“Certainly not the coaching staff or the rest of the team,” Harry chuckles. He wraps his arms around Louis’ waist and tilts his head down, lips puckering and asking for another kiss. Louis gladly gives in, leaning up and letting Harry mold their mouths together.

It’s clear that Harry’s tired, judging by how slowly his mouth moves and how gently his tongue tangles with Louis’. There’s no fuel behind the kiss, no energy. Louis’ surprised that Harry’s putting as much intensity as he is into the kiss.

“Okay, bedtime for you,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s lips before pulling away. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Bright and early.”

Harry nods. “Bright and early. I’ll see you.”

Louis watches Harry make his way down the front walk towards his truck that’s parked by the curb. A part of him wants to run after the boy—launch himself into Harry’s arms and kiss him senseless, to suck the tiredness right out of his throat until Harry was ready to go for a long, dirty round. Louis holds back though, obviously.

_Not the time, nor the place_ , Louis thinks before nudging Abbey Mae back into the house and locking the door behind him.

-

There’s something about the turkey-day game that differs from the atmosphere of the average Friday night game. The bleachers are always overflowing, more so than usual, and the fences separating the field from the parking lot is surrounded by people, either hanging out in their beach chairs or with their trucks backed all the way up against the fence, their feet dangling off the edge of the bed. It’s heartwarming to see everyone, even kids who have graduated and long since left Wyatt in their dust, coming together and spending the morning watching the game.

For the first time since Mark moved out back when Louis was only in middle school, Jay sits next to someone other than her children.

“Are you guys friends or are you guys _friends_?” Louis had asked when Jay announced that Dan, that cute doctor from work, had offered to pick her and the kids up before the game. He had known that his mom had been flirting with Dan; he had spotted them kissing the night of the banquet. It was a single chaste peck, nothing to write home about, but it was still enough to make Louis’ chest feel tight.

She had just rolled her eyes, blushed, which Louis thought better of then to point out, and waved Louis off. “Get your head out of the gutter.”

Instead of riding along with Jay and the girls, Louis had taken Stan up on his offer for a ride. It’s not that he doesn’t like Dan. The guy seems nice enough. Louis just isn’t ready to meet the man that can make his mom blush that same way that Mark could. Call him damaged. Daddy issues, maybe? Whatever.

“You seriously brought a poster?” Dani laughs as Louis struggles to balance his hot chocolate and his big, thirty-six by twenty-four-inch poster. “I thought you were joking.”

Louis scoffs as he manages to slide the poster between his and Eleanor’s knees legs and the passenger seat in front of him. “You know me, D; it’s go big or go home.”

“Then go home,” Eleanor grumbles as she swipes her palm across the tops of her denim clad thighs. “You’re getting glitter literally everywhere. Was that really necessary?”

“What, the glitter? Of _course_ the glitter was necessary.” He shakes his head exasperatedly. “God, none of y’all have a creative bone in your body.”

They end up by the fifty-yard line in the front row, thanks to Calvin and Oli who had decided to arrive at the field nearly an hour and a half before the game even started. Louis can’t complain, considering they’re so close that Louis can almost hear Harry’s voice coming from the middle of the huddle. Anne isn’t too far away either, joined by a man and three kids, two boys and one girl, who are all certainly related to Harry in one way or another. While the three kids are blond and blue eyed, they have features that are too similar for it not to be by blood.

“Louis,” Eleanor whispers frantically. Her nails dig into his thighs, surely threatening to split the material of his sweatpants. “He’s here.”

Louis swats at her hand and rubs the spot where her fingers had dug in. “Jesus, El, what? Who’s—”

“Jimmy,” she fills in, still maintaining a whisper. “God, never fuck someone from the same small ass town.”

_Too late_ , Louis thinks as he watches Harry with talk to Niall, the fronts of their helmets pressed together.

He hadn’t had a chance to talk to Harry about Shim, on whether or not Shim was still harboring feelings for Eleanor or if had finally given up and started to move on. On one hand, he wants to see both of his friends end up living happily ever after, especially considering how long Shim has been pining over the girl. However, on the other hand, Louis wants to see Shim move on. Eleanor knows how cruel she’s been to the kid—leading him on, dropping him when her chances with Jimmy finally pull through, and then coming back to him when Jimmy proves to be unreliable.

It’s all a bit complicated for Louis’ taste. How ironic.

It’s a close game, the kind of close game that will make the Lions walk away with their heads hanging, despite the fact that they’ve won. After every touchdown made by the Lions, the Bridgewater Warriors managed to catch right up. For the entirety of the fourth quarter, Louis was sure that the Lions would go home with a loss added to their rankings, the score being 21 to 17 in favor of Bridgewater. It isn’t until the last thirty seconds of the game that the Lions manage to score a touchdown, bringing the score up to 23 to 21.

Everyone celebrates the win, despite the fact that Nelson looks less than thrilled and most of the players, including Harry, look as if they’ve all just been punched in the stomach. Even as the players file off of the field towards the locker rooms, Louis can see Harry frowning from beneath his helmet.

“Do you still want me to talk to H about Shim?” Louis asks as they start filtering down the steps of the bleachers, the two trailing behind Stan and Dani.

Eleanor hesitates before answering. Louis figures that she’s just about as conflicted about the whole love-triangle as he is. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’d want you to ask. I don’t even know what I want in _general_ , you know?”

Louis shrugs and places a sympathetic hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. “I can just ask how Shim feels about… _everything_.”

“He’s probably hurt,” Eleanor mumbles with a sharp shake of her head. “I led him on! Then, I go around and fuck Jimmy. I tell Shim that Jimmy and I are gonna give it a try, like a fucking idiot, knowing how he feels—”

“El.” Louis interrupts once she starts getting upset, her eyes turning pink and threatening to overflow with tears. “Hey, don’t worry, okay? I’ll talk to Harry and you and Shim will be fine.”

She shakes her head as she carefully wipes beneath her eyes. “I don’t think that’s true.” She turns and offers Louis a smile that makes his heart ache. “But thanks, Lou.”

They don’t get a chance to see the boys after the game, everyone too frazzled as they try to get home as soon as possible to continue their Thanksgiving traditions. Stan and Dani keep to themselves on the drive back, the two of them being able to sense the slight tension in the backseat, especially when Eleanor doesn’t make a single complaint about the glitter from Louis’ poster destroying her jeans. When the girl is dropped off at Dani’s house, she gives Louis a somber kiss on the cheek—something of a thank you—before exiting the car.

“She okay?” Stan asks once Louis’ gotten into the passenger seat. “She’s been off since the game ended. Like, I know that we almost lost, but—”

“No, she’s fine,” Louis replies with a shake of his head. “She’s just. There’s some drama going on with her and Jimmy, I guess.”

Stan snorts as he pulls away from Dani’s and starts on towards Louis’. “I could’ve told you that there’d be drama. All Jimmy’s good for is free beer and a good time.”

Louis smirks. “Oh, have you had a go-around with Jimmy, Stan? Is this you talking from experience?”

“Fuck off,” Stan says with a laugh, socking Louis in the shoulder. “There ain’t enough free beer in the world that would get me to have a go-around with Jimmy.”

-

Thanksgiving dinner with the Tomlinsons is not nearly as organized as the traditional, stereotypical Thanksgiving dinner.

Instead of a big turkey that Jay has to start preparing at five in the morning, they usually opt for grandad Len’s infamous ribs and Jay’s Kentucky butter cake that Louis literally _dreams_ about. Ever since Mark left, Thanksgivings have consisted of watching the game with Len and the girls while trying to not get barbeque sauce on the couch cushions. And, nine times out of ten, Abbey Mae ends up with her nose in _something_. Last year, it was the cranberry.

They’re about to sit down to eat, the Cowboys game on the TV and Len already screaming about the _damn Redskins_ , when Louis’ phone starts ringing.

“Miss me already, Styles?” Louis asks as he excuses himself by exiting onto the back porch, letting the screen door close behind him.

“Obviously,” Harry states. “Are you like, busy? Can you talk now?”

“Um.” Louis glances over his shoulder, watching his family getting comfortable in front of the TV, paper plates in hand. “I can talk for a few minutes. We’re about to eat.”

“Shit, right, sorry,” Harry mumbles, as if he forgot that it’s Thanksgiving for those that aren’t at the Styles household. “I can call you later—”

Louis chuckles. “H, it’s fine, I’ve got a few minutes. Are you okay?”

“I just got a call from Florida,” Harry says, his words rushed and frantic and laced with this electric excitement that Louis can feel through the phone. “They want me.”

For a moment, time freezes. As Harry’s words sink in, images of the past few weeks start blurring into images of what could be the future; flying from Miami to Gainesville, kissing on Surfside beach, jogging together on the boardwalk just past 23rd Street—everything starts falling into place before Louis can even help or register what’s going on.

“Louis? You there?”

“Florida wants you?” Louis asks, still struggling to understand the concept that Harry is only going to be five hours away versus twenty or twenty-two.

“They want me.” Harry laughs, sounding as if he’s also struggling to comprehend the news. “They literally called like, five minutes ago. I still have to talk to coach, but they want me to fly over for a weekend, to see the campus and to join in on a few practices.”

“No fucking way,” Louis exclaims. “This is—holy shit—they want you, your number one school wants you.”

“Can I see you tonight?” Harry asks. “I need—I mean, you’re the only person I really feel like celebrating with.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can come over—”

“Can I come to yours?” Harry clears his throat. “It’s just. My uncle and cousins are all here.”

Louis smirks. “What, are we going to be doing things that they can’t hear?”

“We’re absolutely going to be doing things that they can’t hear.”

The second that Louis sits back down, Jay can tell that something has changed. Louis knows by the way she keeps her eyes on him. She’s not being subtle about it; that’s how Louis really knows. Lottie can sense it as well, though not in the same way as Jay. Lottie just goads him on, asking why he’s smiling so much and since when has he been so excited about watching a Cowboys game.

“He’s a Texan,” Len exclaims with a hearty laugh, the sound so loud that it startles Abbey from where she’s resting at Louis’ feet. “Of course he likes the Cowboys.”

That’s not exactly true, but Louis isn’t about to correct Len. He just shoves Lottie off and tells her to keep watching the game and to stops badgering him.

Jay, bless her, waits until Len is bringing the garbage outside before asking Louis what has him in such a weird—albeit good—mood. “Did you tell him about Miami?” she asks him, her eyes hopeful and open.

Truth be told, Louis has avoided the subject of college and Miami with Harry. Sure, topic of the fall has certainly been brought up, mostly by Harry, but Louis has avoided any mention of his own plans. If Harry ever asks, which he does—a lot—Louis will reply with something vague, like a _I’m still looking, I don’t want to commit just yet_ before changing the subject and asking about Harry’s own plans and prospects, as if he doesn’t already know. He never brought up his acceptance letter, not when Harry, at the time, was still only getting letters from places thousands of miles away.

“He got a call from UF,” Louis states, eyes trained in front of him. The words sound like an echo, like he’s speaking from across the hall and the sound is bouncing against his eardrums. “They want him to visit for a weekend, to go to one of their practices.”

While it doesn’t answer Jay’s question, the answer is enough to make her widen her eyes and for her lips to spread across her face. She smiles like she doesn’t know whether this is a good thing or not, considering how Louis’ voice is as unreadable as his face.

“And. How do you feel about that?”

“I’m—I’m happy,” Louis states genuinely. He _is_ happy. Things are finally coming together; Miami and Gainesville, Louis and Harry. Thinking about a future with the football player suddenly doesn’t feel like such a pipedream. “I’m so happy for him. Florida is his top school next to UT.”

Jay nods, trying to figure out how Louis’ future fits in with Harry’s news on UF. “His he happy about Miami?”

Louis swallows and shrugs. “He doesn’t know about Miami. Yet.”

“Yet,” Jay repeats, blinking slowly. She purses her lips and rubs Louis’ shoulder just as Len is coming back inside, Abbey on his heels. “Better late than never, baby, alright?”

“I know,” Louis replies softly, watching as she walks around him to get to the fridge, ending their conversation. For now, at least.

-

It’s late when Harry ends up knocking on Louis’ window. The second that Louis sees Harry, he has to fight the urge to reach out and crawl under his skin and just stay there forever. Harry looks good in basically everything, whether it be his uniform, workout gear, or his Sunday’s best. But, the image of Harry freshly showered, curls damp and darkening the hood of his grey sweatshirt that covers his round shoulders, legs covered by Adidas joggers, and neon yellow sneakers highlighting the grass beneath him, is an image that Louis would have tattooed on the insides of his eyelids if that were possible.

Much to Louis’ pleasure, he seems to have the same effect on Harry, as the football player takes his time drinking in the image of Louis in front of him. Louis’ not wearing anything special, just one of the t-shirts that he had stolen from Harry and a pair of flannel pajama pants. But, then again, but Louis can relate to whatever’s going through Harry’s head.

Before Louis can so much as make fun of Harry for hitting his head when climbing through the window, Harry’s arms are around his waist and he’s being lifted off of his feet. He doesn’t even bother scolding Harry for nearly breaking a rib or knocking the wind out of him. He’s too busy laughing into the football player’s neck as Harry just repeats the words _Louis_ and _Florida_ over and over again.

“Okay, okay, we’re gonna wake the whole house if you keep doing that,” Louis reminds the quarterback with a grin.

“Right, right, sorry,” Harry whispers. He sets Louis down and, before the smaller boy has a chance to back away, Harry’s kissing him, quick and sweet. “You smell good. Vanilla?”

Louis nods, leaning up to kiss Harry one more time, more on the side of his mouth than anything. Sue him for being tired. “I showered. You smell nice too, for once. Flowery.”

Harry gasps, feigning offense. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Seven times out of ten, you either smell like a football player or like a teenage boy,” Louis points out with a smirk as he unzips Harry’s hoodie, pulling the hood off of the boy’s head. Beneath the sweatshirt, Louis only finds Harry’s cross and bare skin. He doesn’t bother resisting the urge to press his palm flat against Harry’s chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the soft beat of his heart. Goosebumps subtly rise beneath Louis’ fingers. He doesn’t have it in him to mock Harry for it, not when he has goosebumps of his own.

“I am a football player. _And_ a teenage boy.” Harry grips Louis’ hips loosely, his fingertips inching below the waistband of his flannels, just above the round, pale flesh of his ass. “It’s lavender, by the way. It helps me relax.”

They stare at each other. For longer than is probably normal. If anyone else were to walk into the room and find them like this—arms wrapped loosely around each other as their eyes stare, unmoving—they would be unsure of what exactly was taking place.

“I’m so proud of you,” Louis finally breathes out before wrapping his arms back around Harry’s neck. “You’re so talented, H, I’m so happy for you.”

Harry grins and briefly squeezes Louis around the waist before pulling away, only to start pushing Louis towards the side of his bed. “Thanks for letting me come over,” he whispers before gently pushing Louis onto the mattress behind him.

Louis knows where this is going. He knew where it was going the second he agreed to let Harry come over. And he wants it. He has since the first time they fucked in Harry’s truck while it was parked at the lake, and every other time after that. Harry isn’t the first person that Louis’ been with sexually, but he is the first person to make Louis feel as if he _is_ the first person that Louis’ been with. With every touch of his hands and his mouth, Louis only wants more, more, more until he feels as if he’s going to explode.

“What time—hey, no hickeys,” Louis says with a light slap to Harry’ shoulder as the quarterback climbs on top of him and begins mouthing at the side of his neck. “The last ones you gave me are just starting to fade. Lottie’s gonna start charging me if I have to keep asking her to cover them up.”

“I like covering you up, though,” Harry pouts. His curls hang around his face, the ends dangling and brushing against Louis’ forehead and cheeks. “They look nice on you.”

Louis snorts. “My mom isn’t as fond of them as you are.” It doesn’t take a lot of muscle to push Harry off and to turn him onto his back; the football player goes pretty easily. Louis takes it upon himself to lift his leg and straddle Harry’s waist, hands going straight for the boy’s hair while Harry’s go straight to Louis’ ass. “I am proud of you, though. Like, you’re going to one of your top schools. That’s incredible.”

Harry grins. It’s not the same sneaky, horny smile he dons when he knows that he’s getting sex. It’s genuine; a reminder that Louis’ feelings for Harry are always being returned and reciprocated tenfold. “It’s crazy, y’know? Like, everyone told me that I’d be goin’ places, but I never actually thought that I’d end up being a Gator. It’s like. _Surreal_.”

His eyes shine bright from the moonlight streaming in through Louis’ open window. Harry had failed to close the window behind him after climbing through it, letting the cool autumn air slowly filter in and infiltrate the room, causing chills to run down Louis’ spine. Or, is that from the hands currently rubbing slow, delicious circles in his thighs, right where his legs meet his hips?

Louis has half a mind to bring up SFU. The words _I got accepted too_ are right on the tip of his tongue, practically begging to be released into the air between him and Harry. It’s short-lived as Louis decides to deposit the unspoken words onto Harry’s tongue, his mouth spreading wide against the football player’s.

It’s not the right time, Louis knows. Not because they’re clearly about to fuck, but because this night is about Harry. Harry would obviously be happy for Louis, would obviously congratulate him with as much enthusiasm as he can muster at such a late hour. And that’s why Louis _can’t_ bring up SFU; Harry would drop everything just to make Louis feel special, abandoning all excitement he had for his own accomplishments in order to celebrate Louis’.

_Tomorrow_ , he thinks as their hands start traveling and the air surrounding them thickens. _After the game_.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs, pushing his head back further into Louis’ mattress to create some space between them.

Louis frowns, breaking from his thoughts as he stares down at Harry. His lips are red and wet, not quit swollen like Louis wishes they were, but they’ll get there. “Hey,” he says in question. “You good?”

Harry nods slowly, his eyes blinking sluggishly as they try to concentrate on the blue of Louis’ rather than the slickness of his pink lips. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I just—are you okay? You’re not like. As _into it_ as you usually are, I guess.” He clears his throat, trying to formulate his words correctly. “If you’re not into it, we don’t have to—”

“I want to fuck,” Louis interrupts, perhaps a bit too forcefully, judging by the way Harry’s eyes widen and the lines between his brows deepen. “I mean, I’m into it, I promise. I was just thinking, I’m sorry.” He presses their lips together in a gentle, lingering kiss. “I want to fuck,” he repeats, trying to morph his voice into something sultrier, because he _does_ want to fuck. He reaches down between them to cup Harry’s bulge through his sweatpants, hoping to get his message across. “Do you want to fuck me?”

The way that Harry frantically nods is close to comical. “ _Obviously_ ,” Harry breathes out. “I _always_ want to fuck you.” His hands demonstrating just how desperate he is for some action by tightly gripping Louis’ ass through his flannels, his fingers digging into the plump skin, only an inch or so away from between his cheeks. “You sure you’re down, though?”

“What is it that you always say?” Louis asks with a smirk before kissing along the sharp cut of Harry’s jaw. “ _I’m a seventeen-year-old boy—I’m always down_.”

“That’s a terrible impression,” Harry retorts, though his words fall on deaf ears as Louis pulls his cock out—as much as he can with the waistband of his sweats restraining him.

Every time Louis manages to get Harry’s cock in his hands, he’s astounded by how hard he gets after just a few gropes and grinds. Even after making out, touching each other as innocently as they can manage, Harry always manages to get to a half-chub. Louis likes to blames it on Harry’s libido. Harry likes to blame it on the affect that Louis has on him.

By the time Harry gets his fingers inside of Louis, Louis feels as if he’s about to fucking explode. Harry is very technical when it comes to sex. He likes to do things at a tantalizingly slow pace—a pace that, at first, is rather enjoyable. Louis practically craves the feeling of Harry just lazily licking into his mouth, tasting him and holding him in place, letting him be as docile as he wants. However, once they get naked and their cocks are out, Louis grows tired of the slowness, wants to get to the actual fucking.

The only reason Harry complies is because of the way Louis starts whining and squirming, digging his fingers into the thick meat of Harry’s shoulders and dragging them down his back, leaving pink trails in their wake that’ll grow a sensitive red later on. Louis knows how to get Harry going, knows what turns him on in a way that a warm mouth and tight ass can’t. It takes hooded eyes, wet lips, soft sounds, finger shaped bruises in his hips and arms; Louis knows how to get what he wants in bed, especially when it comes to Harry.

Harry knows Louis all the same, knows how to get what _he_ wants. Even when Louis complains about the marks that show the next day, Harry knows that Louis grows weak when there’s a warm, wet mouth on his neck, hands on his waist to make him feel small, even though he hates being reminded of how petite he is. He knows how easily Louis falls into a submissive stupor as soon as he gets his fingers in his chestnut hair—not even tugging—just letting his fingers rest between the strands as he thrusts into Louis over and over.

As Louis sinks down, one of Harry’s hands covering his own that’s wrapped around the football player’s dick, and the other hand holding his hip, he can’t help but groan, definitely louder than he should, what with Jay and the girls right down the hall.

“So hot,” Harry breathes out as Louis’ ass rests heavily against his balls and the tops of his thighs. His hands rest on Louis’ hips as the smaller boy adjusts to his size, swiveling his hips slowly with a little whimper.

Louis has always been a fan of being on top. He likes going at his own pace, whether it be hard and fast, get a real nice burn in his thighs, or slow and deep fuck where he only lifts his hips enough to feel the gradual drag of Harry’s dick. He _loves_ being fucked by Harry, especially when the boy really gets into it, literally fucking Louis into the mattress, but there’s something about being on top that Louis can’t get enough of. He likes being able to see Harry’s skin turn into a heated shade of pink along his chest and up his neck, the way his hair fans out against his pillow beneath him.

“Fuck, Harry, oh my god,” Louis whimpers, trying to keep his voice as low as possible. His nails dig into the soft flesh of Harry’s pecs, creating small crescents among the sea of blush colored skin. “Fuck me. _Fuck_ me—”

“Want me to fuck you?” Harry asks. His voice is thick and husky, gravelly like tires rolling over his driveway. He settles his hands where Louis’ thin waist meets the thick muscle of his hips. Louis barely has a chance to nod, or to ask Harry again, before the football player is lifting Louis up and rolling them over, pressing the smaller boy into the mattress. He fucks him hard, Louis’ legs thrown over his shoulders as Harry practically folds him in half, his hips moving so fast and deep that Louis nearly forgets how to breathe.

Twenty minutes somehow turns into eternity as they both come. Harry collapses rather ungracefully, tucking his head under Louis’ chin as he collects himself, still buried deep inside of him. Even though they both know that Harry has to leave before either of them fall asleep, having to get at least _some_ rest before the game tomorrow, they end up laying with each other until Louis’ clock reads 2:30.

“You ready for tomorrow?” Louis asks as Harry starts getting up, leaving a Harry-shaped absence on Louis’ chest. Harry sighs and turns, a look of impatience on his face. “I’m not asking about football, I’m asking about _you_ ,” Louis explains with a roll of his eyes. “I feel guilty that you’re gonna get like, no sleep tonight.”

Harry chuckles as he pulls on his sweatpants, not bothering with his boxers. It’s such a Harry thing to do that Louis feels his cheeks warm and lips spread across the bottom of his face. “I’ll sleep, don’t worry.” Shirtless, he kneels back onto the side of the bed and presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek, the boy sitting up against his headboard, still naked with his covers spread across his waist and legs. “Are you coming tomorrow?”

“Obviously,” Louis replies. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“I’m ready,” Harry answers before yanking his hoodie on over his head. “We beat Saracen last year.” He hums as he slips his arm through the strap of his bag. “Gonna kiss me before I leave?”

Louis snorts. “What—you gonna loose tomorrow if I don’t?”

Harry doesn’t even need to answer before Louis’ climbing out of bed, naked, and wrapping his arms around the quarterback’s neck. With anyone else, Louis would feel uncomfortable being so exposed to someone so clothed. But, with Harry, the thought of being exposed doesn’t even cross his mind.

Neither of them say anything, as Louis pulls away, resting his forehead against Harry’s. He takes a deep breath and kisses Harry’s cheek before pulling away enough to look the football player in the eye. “I’ll see you at the game, okay? Try and get some sleep.”

“I’ll text you before I leave,” Harry promises, kissing Louis on the forehead before disappearing out the window again, shoes tucked under his arm and hair hidden under his hood.

-

Jay is watching Louis load his bag into their truck just before the clock strikes 6:30. She’s dressed in her lime green robe and soft slippers that Lottie had gotten her for Christmas, her hair piled messily on top of her head. She had woken Louis up gently, a light hand running through his hair while the other tugged on the light on his bedside table. “Baby,” she had whispered, her voice still thick with sleep. “It’s time to get up.” The drive to Saracen is only forty minutes away, but with the surefire traffic, Jay had made sure that Louis was up bright and early, on the road before the sun has even risen.

“Harry told you were to meet Anne?” Jay asks as Louis double checks that his wallet is where he had placed it in his bag. “I know the stadium in Saracen isn’t _huge_ , but I don’t want you getting lost or somethin’.”

Louis nods, shaking his phone in his hand. “Yeah, she’s gonna be waiting for me at the gate.”

“Make sure you text me once you get there, okay?” Jay reminds Louis for the umpteenth time. “I’ll be home all day with the girls if something goes wrong. Len already said that he’ll lend me his truck if you need me to—”

“I’ll be okay, mom,” Louis chuckles before wrapping his arms around her. “I’ll text you when I’m there.”

He can see her in his rearview as he drives down the road, the radio blasting loud enough to keep him awake, yet quiet enough as to not wake those still sleeping in the houses he passes by. The drive is slow and feels so much longer than an hour. No amount of bribery would convince Eleanor, Dani, or Stan to accompany him to Saracen, and Sophia was getting a ride with Karen Payne, meaning the only company Louis has is Hank Jennings and whatever might be playing on the radio.

-

Just as Harry had said, Anne’s waiting by a big, bronze colored statue of a hornet right in front of the entrance to the field. She’s one of the only people sporting green and yellow in the sea of black and yellow.

“Hey, honey,” Anne greets warmly, wrapping an arm around Louis before leading him into stadium. “You get here okay?”

_She sounds just like mom_ , Louis thinks as he nods. “The ride was smooth, yeah.” He looks around, feeling slightly intimidated by all of the black and yellow. He says as much to Anne, imagining how intimidated _Harry_ must feel. Sure away games always tend to be slightly daunting, but Louis can’t seem to find any green other than the turf.

Anne just shrugs. “He’s strong, he’ll be okay. Plus, when he knows that you’re in the crowd, everyone else probably won’t matter that much.” She winks, nudging her shoulder against Louis’ before climbing the steps of the bleachers.

Aside from him and Anne, the only other people donning the Lions’ colors are Karen, Geoff, and Sophia. They’re sat up high in the stands, higher up than Louis’ used to, but he figures that he wouldn’t want people supporting the opposing team taking up nice seats in the Lion’s Den either.

Like almost every Lions game, they start off strong, raking in seven points in the first quarter and, once the offense storms the field for the second quarter, they’re bringing the score to a whooping 24 to 0. Harry’s absolutely destroying the field, displaying the skills that Louis knows he has. Nelson is literally _glowing_ on the sidelines, as is Dixon and the rest of the defense. Fuck, _Louis’_ even glowing, feeling the vibrations of every touchdown in his core.

Things start changing by the beginning of the third quarter. It’s a slow progression at first; Saracen scoring seven with eight minutes left, then another six three minutes later. It happens, Louis knows this, but something is just _off_. _Harry_ is off. Anne must notice it too, judging by the way she’s gnawing on her nail and hasn’t stopped frowning since Harry got taken down by one of the Hornets’ defenders. He’s not even off because of the rough tackle, which Louis wouldn’t be so worried about. Harry got tackled _because_ he’s off.

“What’s going on with our QB?” Geoff asks from beside Karen, leaning across his wife to look at Anne. “He’s not himself out there, am I right?”

By the fourth quarter, it’s obvious to everyone, including Nelson that Harry isn’t being his usual self. Anne has nearly chewed a hole through her lip and Louis is _so_ close to running right down the bleachers to storm the field, talk some sense into his football player. When Nelson calls a timeout and calls Harry off of the field, sending Joey Fusaro in to replace him, Louis actually stands, fully prepared to run onto the field like a ball of fire.

“Are they taking him out?” Sophia and Anne ask simultaneously while Geoff says, “What the hell, they’re taking him out!”

It isn’t until Harry’s sat on the bench, helmet thrown aggressively to the right of the bench, that Louis can hear the shouting, the angry commotion more audible during the time out as the crowd attempts to eavesdrop on the coaches. Dixon notices it too from where he’s leaning over Harry, a hand on the back of the quarterback’s neck as he mostly tries to talk some sense into him.

_“What the fuck are you doin’, kid! What the_ fuck _!”_

Just as Louis sees it—the tall man dressed in a cowboy hat and a cut-off flannel, close to shouting out a lung—Harry is springing from the bench, almost knocking Dixon to the ground, and stalking towards the source of the yelling and taunting. From there, everything goes in slow motion. Anne is on her feet so fast that she nearly knocks Louis over. Nelson is screaming, his voice loud and _pissed_ as Harry and Des start wrapping their arms around each other. And not in the affectionate way.

Suddenly, Louis finds himself following Anne down the bleachers. He isn’t sure how he gets from one place to another, but somehow he ends up watching as Nelson and Dixon start prying Harry and Des off of each other, Liam and the other players running to help break them apart. Anne is screaming, saying, “ _Get off of him! Des, get off of him!”_ Or, maybe that’s Louis. It’s probably both of them.

Louis comes to once Liam, Nelson, and Ritchie have pried Des from Harry, the football player held back by Zayn and Dixon. Everyone appears frozen, including the crowd, just staring down at the field as if a wild animal has escaped its enclosure at the zoo. It makes Louis sick, knowing that there’s nothing he can do to protect Harry from all of the eyes watching him so intensely. The first thing that he wants to do when he spots the blood dripping from above Harry’s eye and the tears flowing down his cheeks is to cover Harry, to block him from everyone and hold him tightly in his arms,

He can’t do this, though. Not when security guards are pulling Des towards their cruiser and Nelson is telling Anne to _get Harry home—the game is done. It’s over._ All he can do is helplessly watch as Liam helps Anne pull Harry towards the locker room. The only reason he starts to follow them is because Anne turns, ushering for Louis to catch up with them. So, he does.

-

“ _—an unexpected loss for the Lions last night due to an altercation between our very own quarterback and his_ father _. This is the first game that the Lions have had to forfeit since 2013 when Styles was only a freshman. Now, while Coach hasn’t released any statements, I’m pretty sure that the Athletic Board and Florida are gonna be questioning Styles’ status—”_

The dashboard breaks as Louis slams his first against it, wishing his hand wash smashing into Hank Jennings’ forehead instead. When the radio still plays, Hank’s voice poisoning the air surrounding him, Louis presses the CD button. Jay’s Norah Jones CD is still in the slot, her voice so soothing and soft. Almost too soothing, too soft. Her words wrap around him like a wool blanket on a cold winter night.

Harry likes Norah Jones. He told Louis, one night after a mind-blowing round of sex, that his mom used to play him Come Away With Me all the time. She’s become something of a comfort for the quarterback, and that known fact only makes Louis want to turn the volume all the way down.

After the refs had officially announced a forfeit in favor of Saracen, Harry had demanded that Louis drive him back to his, not feeling comfortable enough to sleep in his own home. Anne had tried to fight him, saying that Des would never step foot in their house again, but Harry didn’t care.

“I’m going to Louis’,” he kept saying, his face so calm, yet angry and red from where Des’ fist had connected with his skin. “I can’t go home. I’m going with Louis.”

Louis had driven him back to his, because how could he not? As they walked through the door, Jay just watched from her place at the kitchen table, her eyes sympathetic as Louis led Harry back to his room, no one saying a word. Of course she had already heard about the game. Louis wouldn’t have been surprised if the entire state of Texas knew of the game.

Harry ended up staying at the Tomlinson house the entire night, refusing to talk about what the hell had happened. The second they got back to the house, just past two, Harry had solemnly greeted Jay before retreating down the hall to Louis’ room. Louis followed closely behind, even though he didn’t even know if Harry _wanted_ him to follow.

“The last time he came to one of my games, I lost,” Harry had told him. They had just finished dinner, Jay being nice enough to bring some mac and cheese into Louis’ room for them to eat in bed. The football player had changed out of his uniform and into one of Louis’ t-shirts and a pair of sweats. It was all too small for him, the shirt clinging tightly to his shoulders and sweatpants hanging just above his ankles. He looked ridiculous and, under different circumstances, Louis would have laughed.

“I was a freshman, only fourteen years old,” Harry continued. “It was the first time that he had come home in over a year. He didn’t even tell us that he was coming—just showed up to one of our games—an away game, amazingly enough. At the time, I was a benchwarmer.” He shook his head gravely, as if he had been reliving the moment in his head. Louis figured that he was. “We were three minutes into the fourth quarter when Des stormed onto the field, drunk, with a bottle of Tito’s in his hand. He pushed me right off of the bench, knocked the wind out of me.” He took a deep breath then, eyes still trained in front of him—watching a film that Louis can’t see, that Louis wouldn’t _want_ to see. “He kicked me so hard in the stomach that they thought I might’ve had internal bleeding. Nelson almost killed him right then and there. We forfeited that game, too.”

That is all that Harry had said on the matter before he broke down, letting his body fall into Louis’, like he had forgotten how to support himself and forgotten how much he weighs. Louis let him, though. He situated the both of them until Harry’s head was settled under Louis’ chin, tears and snot and drool staining the front of Louis’ t-shirt.

It’s been well over twelve hours now that Harry’s been asleep, which is so unlike the football player, who isn’t exactly a morning person, but definitely isn’t the type to sleep in past ten in the morning. But, as Louis looks at the clock on his dashboard as he pulls into his driveway, he notes that it’s just past 1PM, around the time that Harry would be badgering _Louis_ to get out of bed. The tables have turned, and Louis doesn’t like it.

He had woken up earlier than usual, around half past nine, to find Harry’s back pressed to his front. He was curled in on himself, his mess of curls tangled beneath his head and shoulders hunched in a way that will definitely be painful and uncomfortable once Harry wakes up. He ended up just lying in bed with the football player for an hour, scrolling through Instagram and answering snapchats and texts, waiting for Harry to wake up. By eleven, he grew antsy, as he always does, and figured that he could run errands before Harry would wake up.

Jay is walking down the front porch steps before Louis can even step out of the car. “Anne’s here.”

Anne is sat just where Jay had been the night before. She has a glass of white wine in front of her, despite it only being 1:43PM. “Hi, Louis,” she greets warmly, tiredly. While Harry’s managed to sleep for over twelve hours, Louis guesses that Anne has slept for a total of four hours max, judging by the dark, puffy circles under her eyes and the way her fingers shake around the stem of her glass. “How are you?”

He smiles faintly, unsure of how to respond. Good? Terrible? Fine? Okay? Confused? Confused may be the most accurate response, but it’s far from the most appropriate response.

“Alright,” is what he settles with as he helps his mom set the grocery bags on the counter, followed by a, “And yourself?”

She just shrugs in response, her smile not quite forced, but miles away from being fueled by happiness. “Do you know when he went to sleep last night?”

“Um, around eleven, I think,” Louis replies. “Do you know if he’s woken up yet?”

Anne shakes her head. “I’m afraid to check, in case he _is_ asleep. I don’t want to wake him. I doubt that he’s sleeping restfully.” She hesitates, taking a sip from her wine, before asking, “Would you mind checking on him?”

-

Harry’s lying in the middle of the bed when Louis peaks his head in. He’s on his back, eyes trained on the ceiling and only moving once Louis’ closed the door behind him.

“Sleeping Beauty’s awakened,” Louis jokes gently, more or less testing out the waters.

The football player smiles but, similarly to his mom, his smile hardly reaches his ears. When Louis doesn’t come to the bed right away, right away being only a few seconds, Harry lifts his hand and silently beckons for Louis to come closer. The action has Louis nearly sighing in relief, but he catches himself, instead chuckling and climbing onto the bed. He settles his body beside Harry’s, lying on his, giving him the perfect view of his boyfriend’s profile. His cheeks are still stained red from the endless tears and rubbing of Louis’ t-shirt, his eyes still just as red and puffy.

“When did you wake up?” Louis asks, tentatively resting his arm across Harry’s middle.

He doesn’t realize how tense he is until Harry’s slipping an arm under his waist, pulling him closer until his front is pressed to Harry’s side. Louis immediately tries to loosen his muscles, not wanting Harry to take notice of said tension.

“Only a few minutes ago,” Harry croaks. He sounds just like someone who’s spent the entire night crying their eyes out.

Louis nods, contemplating what to say, or what to bring up first. He opts with, “Your mom is in my kitchen.”

He’s not sure how he expected Harry to react, but Harry’s lack of reaction somewhat catches him off guard. “What’s she doing?”

“Um. Sitting at the table and drinking wine.”

Harry swallows thickly, his Adams apple bobbing. “Do I have to go out there?”

It’s obvious that the last thing Harry wants to do is confront his mom, for whatever reason, and Louis isn’t about to force Harry to do something that he doesn’t want to do, even if it _is_ the right thing to do. In Louis’ eyes, at least.

“Not right now,” Louis says, resting a hand on Harry’s cheek. He brushes his thumb along the purple bags hanging below the boy’s eye. “You can stay here for a while, if you want.”

Harry just nods and sighs, tightening the arm that’s strewn across Louis’ waist. “Can we talk?”

Louis freezes, the muscles in his back tensing up against Harry’s arm. “Yeah. Yeah, what about?”

“Anything,” Harry states with a limp shrug. “Take my mind off of things? Before I actually have to talk about said ‘things’.”

Maybe now isn’t the perfect time to bring up Miami, but somehow, the words _I got into University of Southern Florida_ come spilling off of his tongue like a toddler down a slide. His first instinct is to cover his mouth with his hand and to apologize but, before he can do either of those things, Harry is sitting up and asking millions of questions at one hundred miles per hour.

_When did you find out?_

_Isn’t that in Miami?_

_Does your mom know?_

_When did you find out?_

_Are you going to say yes?_

_How close is that to Gainesville?_

Louis can’t help but laugh at Harry’s sudden enthusiasm, as if Louis’ words have flipped a switch inside of Harry’s brain and the lights are suddenly on. He sits up himself, pulling his pillow into his lap.

“I found out a few weeks ago,” Louis starts off. “It’s in Miami, which is like, a five-hour drive from Gainesville.”

“A few weeks ago?” Harry clarifies with a frown. It’s not an angry or cross frown like Louis might have expected—it reads as a confused frown more than anything else. “Why are you telling me about it a few weeks after you found out?”

_Ah, there it is_ , Louis thinks. _Finally coming to bite me in the ass_.

In the point-five seconds that he has to formulate an answer, he realizes that he has two options: lie, or tell the truth. If he lies, he might be safe for now, but he knows that the second any lies leave his mouth, he’s forever going to feel guilty about lying to one of the kindest, most honest human beings on the planet. If he tells the truth, things might get a little weird, feelings might start coming out at a pace that neither of them are prepared for, but at least it would be the truth. Louis conscience would be clean and Harry would know how he truly feels.

At the end of his point-five seconds, Louis figures that the answer is kind of a no brainer.

“I was scared.”

Harry only appears to grow more confused. Guilty too, which is not at all what Louis had intended. “Scared? You mean, you were scared to tell me?”

Louis quickly shakes his head, not wanting Harry to get the wrong idea. “Not because of what you’re thinking, I swear.” He takes a deep breath. “When I found out, we weren’t even officially together. You were talking about all of these schools all over the state and, when I found out, I started freaking out, because what would happen if you decided to go to UT or Michigan or somewhere on the west coast?”

Slowly, Harry starts to understand. His frown falls from his face, replaced by a look of concentration, his forehead creasing and bottom lip sucked in between his teeth.

“We hadn’t really…discussed our feelings yet, at that point,” Louis continues. “And I didn’t want to scare you off by asking what we were and about our future.”

“Yeah mean, you didn’t want to scare me off by asking me if we would still be able to ‘be something’ with a couple hundred miles between us?” Harry asks with the most genuine smile that Louis’ seen on his face since before last night’s game. When Louis nods, Harry continues, asking, “So, why didn’t you tell me once we made it official?”

_There’s the second bite to the ass_.

“It just never seemed like the right time,” Louis tries to explain, knowing that everything he’s about to say is going to sound like it’s coming straight from his ass. “Y’know, you had a lot going on and I didn’t want to take that all away from you.”

“Louis, what did I have going on that’s more important than you getting into your top college?” Harry asks, his tone verging on frustrated.

“Football, Florida inviting you—”

“Okay, none of those things are more important than—”

Louis shakes his head firmly. “No, Harry, I was not about to take the spotlight from you, not when _your_ top school invited you over for a weekend to go to one of their practices!”

“You wouldn’t be taking the spotlight from me!” Harry argues, his eyes wide and brows furrowed together. “Did you seriously think that you couldn’t tell me about getting into college because of _football_?”

As Louis nods, he realizes just how stupid he sounds. He still stands by not wanting to steal the spotlight from his boyfriend but, as he listens to Harry rant about how absurd it is for Louis to have hidden this from him just because they made it to the semifinals, he knows that he had made a mistake.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, interrupting Harry as the boy lists all of the times that Louis could’ve told him. It’s a long list, considering Harry was only a minute and thirty seconds in before he was interrupted. “I should have told you sooner. I shouldn’t have waited so long.”

Harry shakes his head. “That’s not it.” He takes Louis’ hand that’s resting in his lap, lacing their fingers together. “You could’ve told me the week before you moved to Miami and I would be okay with it.” He reconsiders this before saying, “Okay, I might be a little pissed, but I’d get over it. I just don’t want you thinking that you can’t tell me things because you think that I have ‘more important things’ going on. Yeah, I have things happening in my life, but so do you! And I want to know about those things!”

“You get where I’m coming from though, don’t you?” Louis asks. “Football is your life, Harry—”

“Football is _important_ in my life, but it isn’t my _life_ ,” Harry corrects firmly. “You’re important, too. Your future is important.” He sighs, rubbing the palms of his hands against his eyes in slow circles. When he pulls them away, the skin around his eyes has gone red from the friction, the color fading to a gentle pink. “I get where you’re coming from. I do. And I’m sorry that you felt that way, or that I made you feel that way, but I need you to know that you can tell me anything, no matter what’s happening in my life. Football’s important, yeah, but you are too.”

Maybe it’s the intensity of Harry’s green stare, or the marks still fresh and raw from Des’ knuckles imprinted on his jaw and upper lip, but all Louis can think of doing is climbing into Harry’s lap and kissing his breath away until they’re both panting and scrambling to get closer, closer, even though they’re as close to each other as they can be.

“You’re important to me too, H,” Louis says, extracting his hands from Harry’s, opting to place them on the planes of the taller boy’s neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. That won’t happen again. I promise.”

Harry’s lips quirk into a half grin, his dimple making a much appreciated appearance. He takes his hand and holds it up between them, his pinky sticking out from his fist. “Pinky promise?”

Louis rolls his eyes fondly, thankful that all tension has dissipated. He moves one of his hands from Harry’s neck to join their pinkies together. “Pinky promise.”

“Kiss on it?” Harry asks with a subtle smirk, his eyes twinkling.

Before Louis can even respond, Harry’s mouth is on his own, soft and warm, comforting. The football player hasn’t brushed his teeth and, on any other morning, Louis would push him away and laughs about his bad breath, promising more of his mouth once he’s gotten a brush to his teeth. However, as Harry’s tongue slowly splits Louis’ lips, all Louis can think of is how he never wants this to end. He’s going to run out of breath soon, he knows this, but he wouldn’t mind dying like this, with Harry’s hands gently holding his face and mouth so connected that Louis isn’t sure where they end and begin.

Abbey’s nails scrapping against the other side of Louis’ bedroom door is what ultimately breaks them apart. When Louis pulls back, the first thing that he wants to do is launch himself back into Harry, to spread the boy’s mouth open with his own and to just _take_ , take everything that he can get, to give everything that he can give. He almost considers doing just that, but decides against it when Harry’s head turns, eyeing the door.

“I should probably talk to my mom, right?” he asks hesitantly.

Louis nods and squeezes Harry’s hand. “That’d probably be the right thing to do, yeah.”

Harry sighs and nods, turning and giving Louis another peck before standing from the bed. Standing, he takes notice of just how small Louis’ clothes are on him. The old theater t-shirt pulls tightly at his shoulders and the hem just barely meets his waist. It’s comical. The sweatpants are a little better, fighting almost loosely around the hips, but falling short just at his ankles.

“You’re tiny,” Harry chuckles, shooting Louis a grin.

“You’re annoying and I hate you,” Louis says in the same tone that one would say ‘I love you’.

-

The plane is only thirty minutes late, which gives Louis just enough time to grab two coffees from the Starbucks by the baggage claim and to have an in-depth conversation with an elderly woman, Eda, waiting for her boyfriend, Francis, to get back from Odessa. While Harry’s flying in from Orlando, Francis is coming in from Midland in an hour. Louis’ in the midst of sharing a feta and spinach panini with her when he gets a text from Harry.

_plane just landed, see u in a few :)_

“That him?” Eda asks knowingly, a large pepper flake stuck between her two front teeth.

Louis nods with a grin. “He’s letting me know that the plane landed.”

_hurry tf up i miss your ugly mug_ he texts back before taking a sip of his salted caramel frap.

When Louis sees Harry at the end of the long hallway, opposite of where Louis sits in front of the coffee chain, he gasps.

“That’s him?” Eda asks curiously. “He looks different in the picture you showed me.”

“Yeah, he does,” Louis agrees, his voice sounding far off as he watches Harry get closer and closer, his red suitcase trailing behind him.

Harry’s clad in ripped jeans and a bright blue Gators t-shirt, the sleeves ripped to expose the roundness of his shoulders and biceps. Everything about him looks good, from his light, luminous tan to the strain of his muscle as he pulls along his suitcase. But—

“Your _hair_ ,” is the first thing that Louis says as Harry walks up to him and Eda. “What—where did it go?”

“Charity,” Harry says with a shrug. He’s trying to act nonchalant as Louis starts raking his fingers through the short, thick strands, but Louis can tell just how nervous Harry is, how self-conscious he must be.

Louis takes a deep breath and nods. Of course Harry would donate his hair to charity. What kind of Disney prince would he be if he didn’t? He shoves the top of Harry’s hoody down the back of his neck and runs his hands through the significantly shorter, but familiarly thick, strands of brown hair. It’s still slightly long on the top, the strands flopping over, while the rest is cut closer to his head.

“You’re still curly,” Louis offers with a chuckle. He smiles up at the boy. “I like it.”

Harry raises a brow, still not entirely convinced. “You do?”

Louis nods again. “It’ll take a while to get used to, but it’s not bad.” He smiles before turning to Eda beside them, who he had almost forgotten about. “Eda, darling, would you mind taking a quick picture of us? I want to be the first to have photographic evidence of this masterpiece.”

The older woman giggles and nods, as if she’s absolutely honored to do so. “I would love to.” She takes Louis’ phone as the two boys wrap their arms around each other. Louis rests his head against Harry shoulder, squeezing at his hip through his thick, bright blue Gators sweatshirt.

While Louis’ driving and singing along to Drake’s newest song, Harry sets the photo as his lock screen. He sets it as Louis’, too. It’s a nice picture—one of the first pictures taken of the two of them as a couple. They definitely don’t look glamorous, Louis in one of Harry’s hoodies and sweatpants and Harry in a very similar fit, only instead of his long curls tied up at the back of his head, he’s got a cropped cut that brings Anne close to tears when she sees it.

“So,” Louis says as he gets onto the highway, stringing out the ‘o’. Harry just looks over at him with a raised brow in question. “ _School_ , H. How was Florida?”

“It was good,” Harry laughs. “I basically texted you basically the entire time I was there. You know it was good.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Tell me in person. It sounds better in person than over text.”

For the rest of the hour long drive from Dallas to Wyatt, Harry gives Louis a play by play of his time in Gainesville. He had arrived on Tuesday at noon and, by 3:00PM, he was suited up and on the field with the likes of Mark Herndon, Adam Lane, and Antonio Callaway. Harry had sent Louis a few snaps from the sidelines of the field during the defense’s practice, all of the players tall and broad, resembling men more than just boys playing football. At first, he couldn’t picture Harry fitting in amongst these grown men. Then, later that night after the first practice, Harry posted a photo of him, clad in Gators practice gear, throwing the ball to running back Jordan Scarlett. The photo was captioned with only the alligator and football emoji, but the photo alone was enough to have Louis tearing up, realizing just how well Harry fits in with these big, older football players.

“Feleipe is _younger_ than me,” Harry had pointed out when Louis voiced this over Facetime only thirty minutes after Harry had posted the photo. “It’s not like I’m being drafted into the NFL, Lou.”

“Who the heck is Feleipe?” Louis had asked, ignoring that last bit about the NFL. He couldn’t even _imagine_ what it would be like to send Harry off into the big leagues.

When Louis pulls into Harry’s driveway, the clock just striking 8:00PM, he can see all of the lights on in the house, meaning no driveway blowjobs or quick fucks before Louis has to sneak out through Harry’s window. “So, this is goodnight?” Louis asks with a slight pout, one that he will deny until the day that he dies.

Harry pouts right back, in a fonder, more mocking tone compared to Louis’. “This is goodnight, baby.”

Louis doesn’t bother arguing, knowing how much Anne has probably been itching to get her arms around her only boy. So, he just leans forward kisses Harry harder than the boy was probably expecting, and watches as he carries his bags to his front door.

He waits in the driveway, watching as Anne opens the front door before Harry can even find his keys in his backpack. She’s pulling him into a maternal, bone-crushing hug within seconds, burying her face in Harry’s shoulder just as Jay does to Louis. He smiles before pulling out of the driveway and heading towards his own mother back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the comments and messages on tumblr! I really appreciate it and I don't think you guys know how much your support keeps me going xx (i'm friendstoloversfic on tumblr btw)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lowkey kinda not really updated on time!!! this chapter is a lil shorter than the rest, but hopefully that doesn't deter you. enjoy!! x

They’re hanging out during Louis’ break at work on Thursday, the clock reading half past seven, before Harry’s game against Green River the following night. Louis has the late shift, working from three to ten, and Harry, being the charming gentleman that he is, and knowing how much Louis hates the late shift, decided to stop by with a bag of Mexican takeout and two Dr. Pepper bottles, the glasses still cold and wet with condensation.

There have been two games since the massacre that was their game against Saracen, and it’s weird.  

For one, Harry always badgers Louis about what is going on with his life, whether it be how things are going with Southern Florida or what he’s eaten for breakfast that morning. He also tried to limit the amount of conversation that revolved around football, but Louis shut that down as soon as he realized what Harry was doing.

“We can talk about football, Harry,” Louis said. “You said it yourself—football’s important.”

Louis’ also become more conscious of just how hard he’s falling for Harry. Even after only two months—nearly four, if you can’t the tiptoeing around each other and shameless flirting—Louis can feel himself falling for the quarterback. It’s a slow, progressive fall, but it’s there, growing stronger in the back of his mind with each passing day.

As he sits in one of the empty tables by the bathrooms, in the far back corner of the restaurant, watching as Harry tries his best to hold his crunch wrap in a way that will hopefully limit the amount of grease and tomato juice sliding down his fingers, he realizes that he can imagine doing this exact same thing, only they’re in Miami or Gainesville.

Harry catches Louis staring, as always. He raises a brow as he takes a generous bite from his wrap. A chunk of onion falls from the soft tortilla and onto the napkin in front of him as he chews, lips upturned into a small smile. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Louis only rolls his eyes and takes a sip from his Dr. Pepper. “Why would I ever take a picture of someone as ugly as you?”

“You love my ugly face,” Harry retorts with a wink. The gesture would almost be attractive if not for the chunks of tomato and guacamole settled along the front of Harry’s teeth as he smiles.

“You should see yourself right now,” Louis giggles, actually wishing that his fingers weren’t coated with cheese and buffalo sauce so that he _could_ take a picture. “You look ridiculous.”

As the quarterback wipes his mouth with a laugh, Louis grins, so amazed that this boy, this gorgeous, talented, incredibly sappy and ridiculous boy is _his_ boy, someone that he’s lucky enough to have by his side whenever he needs him. If someone had told him at the start of senior year that, by December, he would be shacking up with Harry Styles, Louis would’ve blushed and told them to fuck off; that would never happen.

Harry waits as Louis finishes up his shift, the football player bugging Nelly over at the bar with cheesy pick-up lines and compliments while Louis waits his tables with Juan. Normally, the night shift is a major drag, with only two servers and one person behind the counter. The only people who bother coming in are people just passing through Wyatt or the regular older folk—typically widows and widowers—who hate being in their houses all alone so they opt to find company and coffee in the diner as an alternative.

But, with Harry singing terribly to the George Strait song playing through the speakers and making bets on State with Mr. Sutton, Louis finds the hours going by in a flash. By the time the clock strikes ten, Harry has managed to finagle two slices of cherry pie from Nelly, one for him and one for Louis.

They eat them sitting under the stars by Williams. Harry has a few blankets and pillows spread out on the bed of his truck with the lanterns that he uses for fishing turned on and set around them as they eat their pie. The dark sky is lit with an overwhelming amount of stars, each one shining down onto the lake, lighting it up like a flashlight.

“This feels like some kind of country music video,” Louis observes fondly. “Now, all we need is some fireworks and a guy in a plaid shirt and boots playing the guitar.”

Harry smirks and tugs at his own plaid shirt, wiggling his brows suggestively. “I even have the boots.” He wiggles his feet in the air, making Louis giggle as he manages to kick the boots off, the shoes flying up in the air before landing a few feet away from the truck.

A few months ago, Louis might suggest skinny-dipping in the water, jokingly telling Harry not to look while he pulled his underwear down, knowing full well that Harry would have his eyes on him the entire time. But, as they get deeper and deeper into December, the warm, summer nights fade into memories and the lake becomes more or less abandoned until the end of winter.

“Can you believe that it’s already December?” Louis asks softly, the question more or less rhetorical and aimed at no one, despite it only being him and Harry in a five-mile radius.

Harry just hums and starts trailing his fingers up and down Louis’ arm, causing goosebumps to rise in their wake. “One month,” is what Harry says. When Louis doesn’t respond, only looking up at the boy with furrowed brows, Harry continues, saying, “You and me. Only one month.” He pauses. “I’m really happy.”

Louis smiles and presses a kiss to Harry’s shoulder before sliding onto the boy’s lap, knees pressing into the sides of Harry’s waist. Louis bends down, pressing their chests together, their lips only a mere sliver apart. “You make me happy,” Louis states, his words slowly sliding from his tongue like honey; thick and sweet.

The green in Harry’s eyes grows darker, his expression morphing into something that Louis can’t quite name or describe. It’s intense, which is something quite common for Harry. It’s also warm. Warm like lying under the sun or laughing so hard that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to _not_ be laughing.

It’s cliché, the way that neither of them really no who removes the distance between their lips, or who opens their mouth first, but that’s how it is. Louis’ accepted that their dynamic is pretty cliché. He likes it. It’s _warm_.

“You taste like cherries,” Harry whispers, the words barely touching the air before dissolving on the pink of Louis’ tongue. “And…nice.”

Louis snorts. “Nice? What does ‘nice’ taste like?”

Harry shrugs, letting his hands rest on Louis’ hips, his fingertips sliding into the smaller boy’s back pockets. “Like you.” He chuckles and shrugs again. “I don’t know. Sweet tea, cinnamon-sugar, frosting. Sweet things.”

“You’re sweet,” Louis replies, smacking his lips against Harry’s briefly. “Flowers, mint, vanilla.”

“Is that me?” Harry asks with a grin, a light blush dusting across his cheeks. It’s endearing.

Louis nods. “I’m happy, H. Really happy.”

-

Louis is home, sick with the flu, during the last game before State. He had felt it coming before he received the actual diagnosis. The dry cough, muscle aches, headaches, and runny nose; even someone living under a rock could put the pieces together. Louis denied that anything was wrong, telling Harry it was only a cold whenever the boy would worriedly ask if he was okay, Louis’ constant shivering, coughing, and sniffling hard to ignore. Jay, however, was not as gullible.

“Oh, Louis,” she had sighed after pulling the thermometer from his mouth only two hours before the game. “You have a fever of one hundred and two!” She glares at him in disbelief. “Why didn’t you say something when you first started feeling sick?”

The truth is that Louis _knew_ something was wrong—not that he had the fucking _flu_ , but that he was certainly sick enough for his mom to not let him go to the game.

She doesn’t even wait for him to answer, probably already knowing what was going on in his mind, before she’s getting up to get him some aspirin and to run him a bath. He can hear her muttering under her breath, only able to make out the words _ridiculous_ and _insane_.

The second he hears the water start running down the hall, he grabs his phone and calls Harry.

“Hey, baby,” the quarterback greets warmly and slightly out of breath. He’s probably on his jog that he takes every Friday before a game to loosen up and to get his head in the game. “What’s up, miss me?”

Louis’ heart practically aches as he prepares to break the news to Harry. “I always miss you. You know this.”

Harry snorts. “It’s nice to hear you say it, though.” Louis can practically hear the smile in his voice. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I uh.” He clears his throat, the action resulting in a long thirty minutes of straight dry coughing. He doesn’t even have a chance to say _I’m sick_ before Harry’s saying, “Jeez, Lou, you sound like you’re dying. You sick?”

“I’m sick,” Louis states in a way that resembles a whine—something he will forever deny. “Mom thinks I have the flu.”

There’s a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line. “Damn,” is all that Harry says.

Louis gulps. “Yeah.”

A few more seconds of silence.

“So.” Harry pauses. Again. “You can’t come to the game.”

It’s more of statement than it is a question. Harry knows why Louis called. He knows that Jay probably won’t let Louis even leave his bedroom unless it’s to piss or puke.

“I can’t come to the game,” Louis confirms hesitantly. He’s not afraid that Harry’s going to be mad or angry; Harry’s better than that, more understanding than that. Louis’ more afraid of the disappointment that he’s bound to hear in the boy’s voice.

Harry takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Lou. That you’re sick. Is there anything I can do? Like, bring you soup or something?”

Leave it to Harry to drop everything on his side of the table just to be there for someone else. “Oh my god, no, babe, you have a _game_ tonight.”

“So? I don’t have to be there until seven,” Harry argues.

“Yeah, as in the game literally _starts_ at seven,” Louis chuckles, followed by a brief attack of coughing into his elbow. “Just focus on the game and make a touchdown for me.”

It’s kind of become a thing for them now— ‘make a touchdown for me’. Ever since the game versus Daley Prep, Louis has made the request, typically while his lips were just touching Harry’s, their arms locked around each other tightly, like those annoying couples that you roll your eyes at in the middle of the hallway.

Harry sighs, almost in defeat. “Always my arm, huh?” Despite the obvious disappointment, Louis can hear the subtle, soft teasing tone in the gravely sound of Harry’s voice.

Louis smiles, wishing he could see the soft green of his boy’s eyes, the gentle spot where his dimple never fails to make an appearance. “I thought it was your hand?”

“God, I miss you,” Harry groans through the phone. “You sure you don’t want me to bring you anything? Soup? Can I at least come see you before the game?”

“You really shouldn’t, babe,” Louis argues, albeit weakly. On one selfish hand, Louis wants nothing more than for Harry to drop his jog, make his way to the Tomlinson house, and wrap Louis up in his long, gangly arms. However, on the more moral, responsible hand, Louis knows that Harry coming over would not end pretty. “What if you get sick? And right before State? No. No way.”

The even louder, longer groan on Harry’s end is all Louis has to hear to know that Harry knows this. He knows that he can’t jeopardize his health—jeopardize _State_. “I’m coming to see you after the game.”

Louis rolls his eyes fondly. “Come and see me tomorrow, okay?”

“ _Tomorrow_? Lou, that’s so far away,” Harry whines just as Jay comes back with a towel and two bottles of her fancy bubble bath that she had gotten from Lottie and Fizzy a couple of Christmas’ ago. “C’mon, please? For five minutes? Five minutes can’t be long enough for me to catch something, can it?”

“Don’t make me say no,” Louis says, the words causing Jay’s brows to rise. She mouths _Harry_? Louis nods and continues to say, “Tomorrow, okay? Call me after the game—Facetime me—and come see me tomorrow.”

Harry reluctantly agrees and, after Louis subtly promising to send some bubble bath selfies without Jay realizing what Louis was promising, they hang up the phone.

Jay’s brows stay raised as she hands Louis the big, fluffy towel that they all tend to fight over when laundry is fresh. “How did QB handle the news?”

“He’ll live,” Louis replies with a sniffle. “Is the bath ready?”

“Almost.” She smiles sympathetically, holding up the two bottles of bubble bath. “Lavender or vanilla?”

-

Harry’s Facetime call comes just after eleven while Louis’ binging romantic comedies on Netflix and nursing his second helping of soup and chamomile tea. He’s always been a little high maintenance when he’s feeling under the weather. It’s a good thing that Jay can never give up the opportunity to baby her first born.

“You look comfy,” Harry says once the call is connected.

Louis grins, snuggling deeper into the Lions sweatshirt he has yet to give back to Harry, his thick duvet pulled up over his shoulders. “Comfier than you,” Louis replies. “Where are you?”

The football player is bundled up in his letterman jacket, his short curls hidden by a Carhartt beanie as he walks, trees and streetlights above his head. “Just taking a walk.” He grins, his expression so innocent and genuine. “We won.”

“You won,” Louis laughs, tilting the screen of his laptop to see the green of Harry’s eyes in a better light. “Scored me a touchdown and everything.”

“You watched?” Harry asks excitedly.

Of course Louis watched. Right after his bath, he had crawled into bed, clad in only boxers and Harry’s sweatshirt, and went online to Sports Day to watch Wyatt hopefully—and ultimately—pummel Green River to the ground.

Louis says as much, asking, “Do you seriously think I wouldn’t watch?”

“Never missing a game,” Harry chuckles with a shake of his head. “How’re you feeling? Any better? Have you taken anything?”

“Yeah, mama gave me something to help with the coughing and some Ibuprofen to help with the aches,” Louis says quickly. He has more important things to address. “State.” He bites his lip. “You’re going to _State_.”

Harry appears to slow his pace as he lets those words sink in. “I’m going to State,” he repeats. “Next week, we’re going to Dallas. _State_.”

“Babe, where are you?” Louis asks as the glow of the last streetlight that Harry had past begins to fade. “It’s dark—”

Before he can even finish his sentence, there’s a tapping against his window. It’s soft enough for Jay to not hear from down the hall, but loud enough for Louis to hear from his bed. Loud enough for him to hear through the speakers on his laptop. Abbey Mae, who’s perched at the foot of Louis’ bed, as she commonly is whenever he’s feeling less than one hundred percent, is on her feet in seconds, pawing at the window and wagging her tail so hard that her butt sways from side to side.

“I told you tomorrow!” Louis laughs, not sure whether to direct his attention to the Harry on his laptop or the Harry outside his window. “What’re you doing here?”

“Open the window,” Harry requests, tapping on the window once more.

Louis rolls his eyes and gets out of bed, the sudden chill in the room hitting the bare, heated skin of his legs. In Wyatt, summers are hot—sometimes unbearable. And, if you were to ask someone from Maine or New Hampshire, they would say that Wyatt winters are more like the typical spring. However, Louis has always considered winters to be brutal. His mom blames it on his genes, claiming that it’s the Italian running in his blood that makes him such a sun spot, as she’s come to call him from time to time.

“You’re scaring my dog,” Louis whispers, even though anyone would be able to call him out on that lie. Abbey has been as enamored with Harry as Louis has become over the past few months. “What’re you doing here?”

“I told you—tomorrow is too far away,” Harry states, rolling his eyes in a _duh_ fashion. “Can I come in?”

“I’m sick, H,” Louis argues. “I swear to god, if you end up with the fucking flu—”

“I’m not going to get the flu,” Harry states with yet another roll of his eyes.

“You can’t possibly know that, asshole,” Louis retorts as he steps aside to let Harry in. “Are you immune or something? You’ve got some super human immune system—”

He’s interrupted by a hand covering his mouth. He stares up at Harry with what hopes passes as an intimidating glare, something that’ll size the football player up. Judging by the amused grin on Harry’s face and the fact that Louis has to literally tilt his face up to look Harry in the eye, he assumes that he doesn’t appear very intimidating.

Louis knows what Harry wants to do before the boy says, “So, I’m guessing kissing is off the table?”

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis laughs exasperatedly, playfully shoving at Harry’s chest. “I’m gonna kill you, I swear.”

“If you kill me, will you at least kiss me before you do?” Harry asks, with a wink before sitting on the foot of Louis’ bed and pulling the boy down with him. “Are you feeling any better?”

The truth is, Louis feels like absolute shit. The ibuprofen helped relieve most of his aches and pains and managed to bring his fever down to a low-grade fever. His throat is feeling better after a throat lozenge and a couple of cough drops—the lemon-ginger ones, his favorite—but his runny nose has yet to be cured. There are rumbled, used tissues strewn throughout the room, only some reaching the trash bin that Jay had set beside his bed.

“I’ve felt better,” Louis sighs as he lies back against his pillows, Harry following suit and bringing the duvet along with them. “You better kick your shoes off before you get under with me, Styles. I know you weren’t raised by an animal.”

Harry does as he’s told, huffing about how he was going to take them off anyways, before climbing in and reopening Louis’ laptop from where he had closed it and left it on the bed. “Someone Like You? God, you remind me of my mom.”

Louis raises an unimpressed brow. “Harry, I suck your cock. Please don’t tell me that I remind you of your mother.” He rests his head against the football player’s chest, drinking in the warmth that admits from the taller boy’s body. “Anyways, I love Ashley Judd. She’s an icon.”

“I’m not arguing with you,” Harry replies as he presses play. “Double Jeopardy is one of my favorite movies.”

Somehow, much against Louis’ previous wishes of staying as far from Harry as possible, they end up having a romantic comedy marathon. Abbey joins them as well, wedging herself between the two boys. Harry doesn’t appreciate it nearly as much as Louis does, claiming that Abbey’s big, furry body makes it harder for Harry to sneak kisses.

“That’s exactly why I don’t want her to move,” Louis says with a chuckle before pressing a kiss to Abbey’s forehead. “She’s a smart girl, she knows when to protect her master from being deflowered.”

Harry grunts. “She’s done a shit job of that.”

Louis elbows Harry in the side and whispers, “Stop talking and watch the movie, QB. You’re awfully distracting.”

-

It’s just past three in the morning when Louis decides that it’s time for them to part ways. Harry has managed to fall asleep with his head against Abbey’s back, the two of them snoring so loud that Louis wouldn’t be surprised if the sound woke up his sisters down the hall.

“Harry,” Louis whispers, reaching over Abbey, who’s sprawled across the both of them, to gently push at his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Babe, wakey-wakey.”

The boy just grumbles. Louis knows he’s awake by the way his snoring ceases and his eyes squeeze tighter. Of course Harry’s going to be difficult. He always is when he doesn’t get his way. People for some reason always assume that it’s _Louis_ who acts like a brat, but Harry can turn into quite the terror when he wants to.

“I know you’re awake, Styles,” Louis states with a smirk and a flick to Harry’s nose. “You need to go home and get some sleep.”

“Why can’t I just sleep here?” Harry asks, finally opening his eyes and pouting his lips.

“Because my mom is going to check on me in the morning and you can’t be here when she does,” Louis explains. “Plus, you’ve probably stayed too long. Hopefully you haven’t caught my icky-ness.”

“Icky-ness?” Harry repeats with an amused laugh, careful to keep his voice hushed as to not wake the whole house. “Is that a word?”

Louis rolls his eyes and flicks Harry again. “I hate you.”

Harry just sighs and rolls out of Louis’ bed, waking Abbey in the process as his body slips out from under her. She lifts her head and follows Harry’s movement from one side of the couch to the other until the boy is leaning over Louis with a pout.

“Can I just get a kiss on the cheek?” Harry whines. “Please? My favorite icky boy?”

“Wow, how flattering,” Louis laughs as he sits up on the side of his bed. “Only on the cheek, okay? No funny business.”

It’s as if Louis’ granted Harry his Christmas present early as he stands and allows the boy to come closer. “God, I’ve missed you,” Harry mumbles. He wraps his arms around Louis waist, his hands staying at the small of Louis’ waist as he kisses the smaller boy on the cheek. “Can I at least get a little ass grab?”

“What did I say about no funny business?”

“Just an ass grab,” Harry says. “Nothing more.”

Harry wouldn’t have even had to ask and Louis would’ve welcomed his wandering hands. But, because he did and because Louis will never miss a chance to mess with him, Louis hesitates, acting as if he’s thinking the request over. “I don’t know,” he says slowly.

“Baby,” Harry mumbles, pulling Louis close enough so that they’re flush together, chest to chest. He morphs his face into what Louis knows is supposed to a sad, puppy-dog pout that’ll convince Louis to say yes, as if he isn’t already convinced. It works, though. It always does, and it always will. Not that Louis will ever tell Harry this.

Louis sighs and nods. “Just an ass grab.”

Weeks ago, the action would mean so much more than just an ass grab. Maybe not more. Maybe just something different. Weeks ago, this would’ve led to something, whether that be Harry getting down on his knees or their tongues down each other’s throats. It would’ve meant something sexual and nothing more. Granted, it’s still slightly sexual, as _everything_ is slightly sexual when it comes to teenage boys with raging hormones and dicks that can be put to good use at all hours of the day. However, it’s also just comforting. It’s warm and it’s _nice_. It makes Louis feel bad for everything who doesn’t have the same luxury, the luxury of Harry Styles being around to grab at their ass.

“Can you text me when you wake up tomorrow? I want to come see you,” Harry requests when they pull away. His eyes track the slight movement of Louis’ lips, the way his small, pink tongue pokes out and licks over the dry, chapped skin.

“Of course, yeah,” Louis says. “Hopefully I feel better before Sunday. Haven’t missed a pancake breakfast since before the twins were born.”

The look on Harry’s face is all Louis has to see to know that the boy is one hundred percent in agreement. The pancake breakfast has been a Wyatt tradition since Len was a Lion. Every Sunday before the Lions go to State in Dallas, the entire team, their families, and the rest of Wyatt makes their way to the high school for one of the biggest breakfasts that a human will ever see.

Their goodbye is fueled by a lot of want and a lot of promises. Harry’s eyes only ever leave Louis’ lips when the blue of his eyes is too tempting and Louis just barely musters up enough will to not invite Harry in with an open mouth and open legs. But, Harry does eventually leave, and Louis does get back into bed, but not before popping some Nyquil to help him drift off into a deep, thick sleep.


End file.
